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amethystsoda · 1 year

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your personal top (10?) manga? :))

Hello!!!

I am going to preface this with the fact that I only got into anime around 2014/2015 (Fullmetal Alchemist + Brotherhood) and then read the manga around 2016.

I only started avidly reading around 2019 with digital copies of JoJo and fell into loving manga from there and genuinely becoming a reader/keeping up with new releases and starting to learn Japanese (basic hiragana, etc) in 2021.

My other qualifications for these picks are that I am an irl artist (illustration and stained glass), taught an art history course for 1 year, and I read/write as much as possible outside of work.

I will also say that I may not have finished reading all these series yet, but they are the ones near and dear to my art-loving heart.

Also sorry it’s a few more than 10 *sweats*

Fullmetal Alchemist — Hiromu Arakawa

My very first manga.

Knowing that Arakawa taught herself art while still working on her parents’ farm and used her nights/time off to write it made me so in awe of her drive and skills. The ways the story deals with humanity, war, power, and love make it a timeless classic.

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure — Hirohiko Araki

It’s bonkers. It’s off the wall. It’s been going since the 80’s and Araki is still working. There’s so much to love. There’s so much to hate. But no matter how you feel about JJBA, it’s undeniably a masterpiece.

Araki’s dedication to the art is one of the biggest draws, with his fashion and art history references and use of bright colors. You can feel his love for the medium shine through his full color pieces!

My personal favorite parts are Phantom Blood, Diamond Is Unbreakable, Stone Ocean, and Jojolion (ikik all the “boring” parts, but I think that’s where the characters are most interesting)

Jujutsu Kaisen -- Gege Akutami

My next big read after JoJo. After watching season 1 of the anime, I knew I needed more. The way that Gege uses the classic shonen tropes combined with explorations of life and death is very strong storytelling.

We learn from the start about curses, cursed energy, we witness a major death in the protagonist’s life and he’s given a goal:

“You’re a strong kid, so help others. Even if it’s only those closest to you, just save the people you can. It’s okay if you lose your way, and don’t worry about whether they’ll thank you or not. Just save as many people as you can, even if it’s only one.”

The series often shows us what it means to save even one and the self sacrifice that comes from protecting others, even if it’s painful or difficult. Throw iconic characters into the mix and you have the basis for an already notable classic shonen manga.

Spy x Family — Tatsuya Endo

Found family slice of life with a big dose of action and fluff?? Literally the perfect comfort manga. I saw enough promos on tumblr that I finally caved and started it in 2020 and I LOVED it.

More people are familiar now bc of the anime’s popularity, but I definitely recommend reading it as well! The art is consistently high quality, the face expressions are hilarious, and the main concept of fighting for peace is re-stated throughout the storyline.

Loid took on this mission and his spy position to bring peace. He never wants to see the horrors of war again. He never wants to see another child cry. The family may be “fake” but the feelings are real.

Witch Hat Atelier — Kamome Shirahama

I cannot stop giving high praises for this series!!!! It’s like if you mixed Ghibli’s nature and art with Narnia or LOTR’s fantasy vibes. The magic system is based on drawing and it’s such a treat for artists to read.

Shirahama also uses a lot of traditional art references for her work, like rococo, art nouveau, classic illustration, etc. She’s won awards for the series and every one is deserved.

Also the two main witches, Qifrey and Olruggio, are definitely in love and take the best care of their witch students (cough daughters) in the atelier. Qifrey is like if you mixed Howl Pendragon with Gojo Satoru. Olruggio is the traditional tsundere with a heart of gold.

The series also talks a lot about disability and how we can improve others’ lives to make them more comfortable and accessible! It’s a very unique world and story that draws you in and makes you feel at home.

Chainsaw Man — Tatsuki Fujimoto

Yes, the series everyone is currently talking about. And I’m not going to call it peak or goat, but I think the concept is very strong and well-executed.

Fujimoto pulls you in from the intro (esp Pochita, how can you not love a cute little chainsaw dog!?), he makes you care about the characters, and slowly rips your heart out chapter by chapter. It’s won awards for good reason.

Not everyone is morally black and white. There’s giant battles and dynamic art. The main character just wants to touch some boobs. The other main guy is basically a househusband after work hours. Add in a pretty girl blood devil who doesn’t like vegetables. An Angel Devil who can kill someone through a touch and loves ice cream. A sopping wet kitten of a girl who works at her family’s burger place and hunts devils on the side. etc etc.

The characters are one of the strongest aspects of Chainsaw Man and their dynamics with each other. Hate, love, control, fear… The series talks about our basest desires and anxieties and explores them in a fictional playing field with all the flare you expect from a Shonen Jump title.

Toilet Bound Hanako Kun - AidaIro

THE ART STYLE THE ART STYLE THE ART STLYE. This series is done by a two person team (AidaIro - one for art, one for writing) and I appreciate that each brings their strength to this manga.

The coloring and art are so dreamy and whimsical, while still using strong jewel tone colors (instead of only pastels or earth colors as you might expect in a western fantasy series).

The work uses the “seven school wonders” as its base and Nene Yashiro as the protagonist who just wanted to get a date with her crush and called on Hanako’s help. Through her impulsivity, she ends up under a mermaid’s curse and makes a pact with Hakano to make it more bearable, getting pulled into the carryings-on of spirits around the school.

The art/story combo is engaging, dynamic, and emotional. There’s a lot of hilarious face expressions in this manga as well and little visual gags/jokes that make it fun to read. The series started in 2014 and is still ongoing!

The Way of the Househusband — Kosuke Oono

a former yakuza member marries a designer and becomes a stay at home househusband. Hijinks ensue. Add in his former gang friend Masa and their cat Gin and you have a recipe for domestic comedy.

I’ve genuinely laughed out loud so many times reading this manga. The chapters are pretty short and are good when you need a little break to not stare at a screen. It’s another good comfort manga when you need something low intensity.

Dorohedoro -- Q Hayashida

I have to admit I found this one because of the anime MAPPA did, but I immediately explored the manga and mud and sludge art book. Q Hayashida trained in fine arts before becoming a mangaka and it shows through the quality of her work.

From the heavily detailed manga panels, to the mixed media covers, and bonus comics done in color, the world is rendered in a blend of gritty realism and surreal fantasy.

Dorohedoro is one of the most unique pieces of worldbuilding I’ve encountered, with the smoke magic system, use of doors for traveling between Hole and the sorcerers world, as well as including devils in the lore.

Again, characters are a big draw of the series, but the art is just mind blowing to me as an artist, knowing the level of craft she put into them. I still flip through the artbook for inspiration when I’m feeling drained.

I haven’t finished all of the manga, but I’m slowly collecting the volumes (some are out of print). But I believe all the pdfs are up on archive.org (also please keep in mind there is an Adult Only/18+ content warning on this manga as there is gore and some nudity)

Blue Period — Tsubasa Yamaguchi

I started collecting this when they released volume 1 and just kept collecting. If you’re an artist at all or appreciate art, this is a series for you. It describes the struggles of finding your voice as an artist so deeply and you will feel understood and seen.

There are quite a few characters in the series, so I suggest looking at the wiki for this one to keep everyone straight. I also recommend watching the anime, as the colors and voices help distinguish the characters further.

The art history references in the chapter art makes this a scavenger hunt for art nerds and the messages of self searching, acceptance, and discovery are something anyone can relate to. (edit: I looked up the series more and it's another woman author!! :D )

The Case Study of Vanitas — Jun Mochizuki

Another I started collecting because of the anime, but it’s SO so beautiful (Arakawa sensei even gave a recommendation inside the front cover of volume 1!)

Also!!! Another woman author!! I’m so happy to give lots of women author recs. If you like gothic romantic vampire dramas set in alt history steampunk Paris with a dash of horror, then this is for you.

Bisexual vibes from literally all of the main 4 (Noe, Vanitas, Dominique, Jeanne). Some moments of sensuality, but it never goes into overtly sexual, making it more accessible for teen readers.

Her watercolors are instantly recognizable and stunningly gorgeous. Noe’s delight in the world is balanced by Vanitas’ grumpier realism. Also, the concept of a vampire that can read memories through blood blew my mind. Definitely recommend.

Special mentions:

Yotsuba&! (a classic first manga for kids. Heartwarming. Funny. Adorable)

Skull Face Bookseller Honda-san (also a good anime. Only 4 volumes. All the crazy things that happen in a bookstore/publishing. Funny and a great autobiography by the author Honda)

Kaiju No. 8 (an up and coming Shonen Jump that’s already slated for an anime!!!! Kaiju battle action + a 32 year old protag that had an accident while working and can now turn into a Kaiju >:D Monster lovers rejoice)

I also have a few singles of older shojo manga that I’m getting into recently like Cardcaptor Sakura, Sailor Moon, Kitchen Princess, Host Club!

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manwalksintobar · 6 months

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Ntozake Shange to Eisa Davis

querida antigua eisa,

you almost got it-you really did ‘born of the blood of struggle’ we all were/ even if we don’t know it/ what if poetry isn’t enuf? whatchu gonna do then? paint ? dance ? put your back field in motion & wait for james brown to fall on his knees like it’s too much for him/ what? too much for james? yeah/ didn’t you ever see the sweat from his brow/ a libation of passion make a semi-circle fronta his body/ a half-moon of exertion washin’ away any hope he had of/ standin’ it/ can’t stand it & he falls to his knees and three jamesian niggahs in a stroll so sharp it hurts bring him a cape that shines likes the northern star/shinin' i say like you imagined the grease in the parts of yr hair or yr legs/or yr mother's face after rehearsal after she had you/ james falls to his knees cuz he “cain't take it"/he's pleadin’ please please please don't go we look to see who brought james brown to the floor / so weak/ we think/ so overwrought with the power of love that’s why poetry is enuf/ eisa/ it brings us to our knees & when we look up from our puddles of sweat/ the world's still right there & the children still have bruises tiny white satin caskets & their mothers weep like mary shda there is nothing more sacred than a glimpse of power of the universe it brought james brown to his knees lil anthony too/ even jackie wilson arrogant pretty muthafuckah he was/ dropped no knee pads in the face of the might we have to contend with/ & sometimes yng blk boys bleed to death face down on asphalt cuz fallin' to they knees was not cool/ the way to go/it ain't fallin' to our knees is a public admission a great big ol' scarlet letter that we cain't/ don't wanna escape any feelin'/ any sensation of bein' alive can come right down on us/ & yes my tears & sweat may decorate the ground like a veve in haiti or a sand drawing in melbourne/ but in the swooning/ in the delirium/ of a felt life lies a poem to be proud of/ does it matter? can ya stand up, chile? the point is not to fall down & get up dustin' our bottoms/ i always hated it when folks said that to me/ the point eisa/ is to fall on your knees & let the joy of survivin' bring you to yr feet/ yr bottom's not dirty/ didn't even graze the earth/ no it's the stuff of livin' fully that makes the spirit of the poem let you show yr face again & again & again i usedta hide myself in jewelry or huge dark glasses big hats long pillowin' skirts/ anythin' to protect me/ from the gazes somebody'd see i'd lived a lil bit/ felt somethin' too terrible for casual conversation & all this was obvious from lookin' in my eyes/ that's why i usedta read poem after poem with my eyes shut/ quite a feat/ cept the memory'd take over & leave my tequila bodyguard in a corner somewhere out the way of the pain in my eyes that simply came through my body/ they say my hands sculpt the air with words/ my face becomes the visage of a character's voice/ i don't know i left my craft to chance & fear someone wd see i care too much take me for a chump laugh & go home this is not what happened? is poetry enuf to man a picket line/ to answer to phones at the rape crisis center/ to shield women entering abortion clinics from demons with crosses & illiterate signs defiling the horizon at dawn/ to keep our children from believin' that they can buy hope with a pair of sneakers or another nasty filter for cheap glass pipe/ no/ no/ a million times no but poetry can bring those bleeding women & children outta time up close enuf for us to see feel ourselves there/ then the separations what makes me/ me & you/ you/// drops away & the truth that we constantly avoid/ shut our eyes to/ hold our breath hopin' we won't be found out/ surfaces/ darlin'/ & we are all everyone of those dark & hurtin' places/ those dry bloodied memories are no less ours than the mornin/ yes the mournin' we may be honorable enuf to endure with our eyes open the coroner cannot simply bring her hand gently down our eyelids/ leavin' us to the silence of not life/ the solitude of the unreachable can ya stand up, 'chile? hands stretched out to touch again not so you can get up & conquer the world/ you did that when you cdnt raise yr head & yr body trembled so/ you scared yr mama that was when the poem took over & you gave you back what you discovered you didn't haveta give up/ all that fullness of breath/ houdini in an emotional maze/ free at last but nobody can see how you did it/ 'how'd she get out'/ nobody'll know less you tell em/ do you really wanna write/ from twenty thousand leagues under a stranger's wailin? can you move gracefully randomly thru the landmines that are yr own angola/ hey, your bosnia! are you shamed sometimes there's no feelin' you can recognize in yr left leg? does the bleeding you'll do anyway offend you or can you make a sacred drawing like ana mendieta that will heal us all? do i believe in magic? hell yeah. shd you? i don't know. don't know how yr gonna find yr way out the maze/ ancient as it is no one can tell you the secret/ not me/ not aunt angela/ not yr mama beautiful as she is/ i usedta watch her legs cut thru space like a ninja in ballet shoes/ i wanted to be tall & clear-eyed like yr mama/ & you come tellin' me i cd beat you up in a school yard/ no my daddy wda bought the school yard & paid kids not to hurt me/ so what you see is not what you get i am not a poem/ i am savannah's mother/ savannah sat with her bottle thru the children's class at stanze's once we moved to texas/ but i was always lookin’ for your mother's legs to come slicing the air/ ten years later/ 2000 miles away/ed mock dead/ tower of power fallen/ sly stone disappeared/ oakland like the back of my hand/ now unknown/ "get it & feel good" i usedta say sometimes still do/ diffrence is i cherish stupid lil things now/ did yr mama tell you raymond asked our whole class after a bout with possessed drummers and gravity/ if we ever took our dance clothes off/ he could smell us comin' cross the Bay Bridge/ he shouted & pranced like somekinda stallion/ like his sweat didn't stink too/workin' in the other realm is dirty work/ makes us smell bad/ did yr mama tell ya? i know she didn't let ya believe makin' art was not a messy business/ she cdn't have/ we were trained too well is poetry enuf, eisa? that's gonna be up to you? is poetry enuf for me? why do you think i wrote 'for colored girls' i wanted yall to come out from under yr starched pinafores & pressed heads with some notion of dream & sanctity of spirit/ looks like some of it worked but remember i'm still writin' still dancin' fell on my knees so many times now/ i wrote rev. ike for a prayer cloth it's serious like that peaceful like that i sweat when i write/ do you? the original aboriginal dancin' girl love, ntozake

#poetry #Ntozake Shange #feminist poetry #Eisa Davis #for colored girls...#Black America #dancing #women #writing #sweat #Black American poetry #poems of protest #poems of rage #loving the world anyway

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shina-moon-art · 1 year

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@justscrolling765

So tumblr ate your ask bestie but I have it so I get an email when ppl send asks or questions

(Gotta remember what all i wrote because tumblr decided it was gonna trash all of it)

Kinda using these pictures as reference bec I know next to nothing about this anime

I like the way he’s drawn in the last pic, I think it’s from the manga idk tho. He’s a vampire? I think? This anime has vampires right? Tbh if it’s not something the story is upfront with about his character then the all red + red eyes is a bit on the nose.

I saw clips of the anime like 5+ years ago so I don’t remember much. I thought he was taller??? Maybe he is and that’s just the way they drew the refs idk. Speaking of the refs they made his arms weirdly long, usually your fingertips reach about mid thigh while his are like by his knees. Idk if it’s intentional but it helps make his design look more unsettling/not quite human

I’m sorry but his jacket is boring I think the only interesting part is that it’s flared and completely red also maybe the things at his shoulders but yeah. (The fanart does some interesting stuff with the shape of his jacket but otherwise yeah it’s pretty boring in terms of a design standpoint)

The HAT though, I’ve got a love hate relationship with hats because oftentimes I cannot draw them for the life of me but I love it in this design, the shadow it casts over his face also adds to the unsettling feeling of his character ESPECIALLY when you’ve got the glasses since the way they’re drawn seemingly never has hard shadows over them.

All in all I think he’s probably at best a morally grey character and at worst the outright villain of the series but idk. His design works for that purpose and from the way he smiles I’d say his personality is probably pretty unsettling as well so if this is what the author set out to do with his design I’d say it was done well. Manga shots look awesome and so does the anime ones, idk what they were doing with the refs but it’s whatever, I like it

#hellsing #alucard

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bobzora · 10 months

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4, 8, 9 for the art asks!!

4. Fav character/subject that's a bitch to draw

character wise i cannot draw yusuke for the life of me. this feels really random but i can draw him looking right maybe every once in a long while. yeah. um. that's why he never really shows up in my comics LOL (that and i cannot write him at all. the negligible amount of "writing" my comics require notwithstanding)

i like skirts (in designs. i dont wear them lol) (see: my interest in magical girls & idol anime) but i can't draw them very well...i also can't design outfits, haha. i have 0 sense of fashion. sad!

oh and. truly tragically as a p/ersona 5 guy. i can't draw masks/glasses/any hat or accessory that goes on the face or head. it's dire.

there's lots of other stuff that i really love in art that i want to learn how to do...gotta get on that grind i suppose!

8. What's an old project idea that you've lost interest in

in terms of projects in general i have had a fangame idea that never goes anywhere for like. every other thing i've ever been into. in terms of like. drawn art this took me a second to figure out because while i have plenty of trashed wips i don't have a ton of capital p Projects that i don't care about at all anymore. and then i remembered.

in 2019 or so i completely (somewhat poorly) animated an opening (in an app with 0 animation features) for an oc project that is completely dead to me. i feel nothing for it. lol?

9's a duplicate ^_^

#bobtalk #ask #:)#that wasnt the first opening i made for an oc project but at least the first one (circa 2017) was made for something that still.#kind of exists. just not at all like how it did at the time lmao.#(i watched a lot of fanime as a kid)#honorary mention to a little hunty reanimation i briefly attempted in maybe 2020? dont care for that idea.#but yeah i've got project ideas dating back 5+ years that i haven't lost interest in. i just. havent gotten around to them! lol.#that's just the kind of person i am i guess

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maybe-drawing · 1 year

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Inktober 2022: A reflection

This year I did Luna ‘s (who is an amazing artist!! Check them out on Twitter!!) Inktober. Spoiler, I did not do all the days as I got sick halfway through and then just stopped lol. However, it was remarkable good practice and I learned a lot! One might say you can see me improving 👀 It gets better, promise!

Here the full prompt list:

by https://twitter.com/LunaIsAnArtist

1. Sprout

yes this is bdubs fanart, (I’ll do a separate post with the fandom one and tag them there) Also learned about gradient maps!

2. Ladder

I cannot for the life of me figure out how to render stone, and it really shows

3. Glory

I do not dislike this one, however Clip Studio Paint's weird artistic render line feature really stole the show here lol

4. Investigation

Played with gradient maps again. The color is sure something!

5. Rosemary

At this point, I was wondering if a completely lineless painting style was something I even like? And honestly it has its appeals, and I think ill keep playing with it, but I missed having lines.

6. Home

Them <3 @liebesamateur

7. Boots

I love this little buddy!! Look at them!! Lovely!! Also this was when I decided to return to a more painterly lined look for my art again :D

8. Voice

This is one of my absolute favorites!!! The light hello???? also the tiny pumpkin on the hat :D

9. Fragment

Did a study of a lemon and went you know what would be fucked up

10. Ranunculus

this looks so much better than it has any right to!! Indie game vibes hello?!?

11. Moss

Bdubs fanart again, but look at him, he's just a little guy! Very much based on countless designs I’ve seen all over. (if you know the OG lemme know) Certified creature.

12. Worth

I don't like this one... The concept is there, but the execution is sloppy and kinda off-putting. The only thing I kinda like it the blood at the very top opening.

13. Float

I love this very much not anatomically correct baby!!!

14. Poppies

I mean long arms!

15. Zodiac

I’m torn bc on one hand the background is stunning, I love the colors. On the other hand, this would have looked too much better lineless, and the lens sky reflection is just lazy and doesn't fit with the rest of the style.

16. Evolution

GHOST CRAB!! I downloaded some new brushes, and it was just sooo much fun.

17. Meadow

I really like everything except the “flowers”. The clouds and background/foundation is solid, but the weird flower brush is too sharp and it just doesn't work. Also, the colors of the flowers are supposed to be in shade and idk man

18. Examination

Now this one could make more sense, like perspective wise and the highlights are a bit wack. However, it's really cool and I like it a lot. The bluish tint for the glass, the goldish bronze, the background yes!!

19. Reflection

The poses for this kept just not working out. I couldn't get the angles, nothing made sense, so I made them silhouettes! And it works nicely. I like this one. I am kinda starting to overuse that background contrast thingy, but it's fiiiiiinnnne. Also, the curtain??? The red pops so well hello, its just bam, and it deserves to do that.

20. Bullet

It's a bullet train! Get it? Anyway, I really like the burn effect for this one and I wanted to make it a spooky train. One thing I'd improve is how the likes are fading into the smoke, it doesn't look quite right.

22. Bones

This is kinda my burnout point and it shows. The line thickness is all over the place, I didn't work on this very much and just slapped some things on there and put it up. I'd love to draw a proper pile of bones someday, but this wasn't it.

23. Mutation

I do kinda like this one, and I don't have any major complaints. I just remember not really feeling doing Art™ at that time.

29. Wyvern

I sketched this the next day and was so normal about it. Idk if this is really a Wyvern, but it looks cool! I really like the frame and breaking it. It gives a nice break and depth!

#Freddy draws #inktober #inktober 2022 #lunatober 2022 #overall i really had fun #even with the stress of getting very sick and traveling for 2 days straight after recovery #and then walking through a river for 4 hours for class #absolute insane experience I tell you #crossed 3 states in under 24 hours #beware long post #tw blood #tw organs #tw body horror #tw eye horror #tw bones #tw skeleton #my art #original art

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ebitchwriting · 1 year

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Dragged Into The Blood

Summary: Never staying in one place for long, Lea was used to impermanence, chaos, and having to drop everything at the drop of a hat. Lea never expected that she would be kidnapped and wake up in a rusted, decrepit prison cell because of a madman's delusional belief in eugenics and cleansing the Earth of imperfection. By herself, with only the clothing on her back, she will have to rely on luck and logic to escape before she's killed or worse.

Warnings: Severe anxiety due to being pursued and seeing another person get tortured, disturbing thoughts of violence, and claustrophobia(vents).

I welcome constructive criticism on my works as it is the only way that I as a writer can improve. All I ask is that you are civil. No suicide baiting, no death threats, no hateful comments. If you cannot handle fiction that deals with dark matters, then please look elsewhere. There will be a link of this story for A03 at the bottom of this post. This is also a revamp of my series on Fanfiction.net under the same name. Link to that, if you so wish to read it, is under my rules.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16.

Chapter 3: Through The Vents

Lea holds the gun in an offensive position as she peeks outside the door, looking in both directions for any enemies. The corridor was silent, and as far as she could tell, there was no one on the metal stairway to her left and a dead end to her right.

'... Non-climatic, but better than... nope, not going to think about that...'

Lea shook her head, refusing to let her thoughts start to attack her again. She held the AK-74 in the offensive position as she began to descend the stairway, each of her steps careful not to draw any attention from the unknown ahead.

As she stepped into the room, she found that it was another laboratory. However, this one was meticulously organized. There were no papers on the floor in piles, no broken glass from testing tubes or beakers, and no speck of dust or cracks in the computers at the desks. The lack of a mess in the testing lab only made the teenager feel more ill at ease and far more on edge. At the opposite end of the laboratory was another exit that appeared to be locked. The only possible exit from the room was a vent nestled in the far left corner.

'... It doesn't matter if it's the woman or the man behind all of this; they're using this lab to catalog whatever experiment they're running on me...'

Lea spots several open files on the desk on her right and steps closer, leaning over to read anything useful for her escape. The photos drew her attention first, and the sight of the creatures made her gag. It looked almost as if thousands of eels were sewn together into a haunting humanoid silhouette. It looked as if it was in agony. There was clearly more under it, but she didn't dare try to move anything and tip-off that she had been in here. The next photo set that drew her attention was the pair of pictures of a corpse, but his arms were riddled with large black veins that seemed to have swelled to mimic thick black ropes. The legs could barely be called legs, resembling the "legs" of the creature from the first photo. One of the files' exposed papers was scribbles of formulas and chemical equations that Lea could not understand if her life depended on. Finally, the last file that was already open had information about Lea:

Name: Leighanna Anderson

DOB: 04-24-93

Blood Type: O-

Sex: F

Height: 154.94 cm

Weight: 68.04 kg

Unfortunately, the rest of the record was covered by a handwritten note. Lea noticed how the handwriting was fine, neat, and written in perfect cursive. Unable to quell her curiosity, her eyes locked onto the cursive words. The teenager felt her already rapid heartbeat start to pound painfully against her chest as she quickly realized who had written the note and exactly how much danger she was in:

Finally, I have found the only other person with my blood type, the only other one who holds the secret to viral adaptation. She is the only other one with the right to become a god, and I will shape her into a true goddess and dispose of that whore, Excella. We shall finally kill Chris Redfield and bring about Genesis and rule over Eden. Albert Wesker.

Even though that stranger had never revealed his name, Lea knew that he had to be the one who wrote this. The person who wrote this had to be delusional, and while she may not have liked the woman, she clearly wasn't this unstable. Just heartless. The man exuded delusional thoughts of grandeur, just like this note. Lea backed away from the papers, gripping the gun's handle harder, no longer feeling safe standing around.

The teenager forced her eyes to look over at the laboratory's other exit. Lea quietly hoped the locked doorway's keycard would be conveniently located on a nearby desk or countertop. That maybe she'll be lucky. Unfortunately, as Lea focused on the locking mechanism, she realized that not only would it need a keycard, but it would also require a fingerprint. Which meant this room was a dead end.

As if it was right next to her, off in the distance, she heard him. Someone else was with him, a woman. The conversation itself was broken and disjointed, but Lea could still understand bits and pieces of it. He was talking about Lea and her ascension to godhood, and they were heading right towards Lea's ruined cell.

The teenager knew she had to hide and get out, but where and how long until that monstrosity caught up to her? She can't just hide under the desks or return to where she came from.

'... The fucking vent, you moron..!'

Lea's head snapped towards the far left corner, and within a second, she was in front of the vent, struggling to remove the cover without denting the edges of it. Her fingers fumbled around the hatch, and after a heart-stopping moment, she finally opened it without breaking it. Then, as fast and quietly as she could, she slipped inside, pulling the cover back on as tight as possible. All the while, she could hear the delusional psychopath snarl and start to run out of the prison and into the laboratory, with the stranger following closely behind, decidedly silent.

'... Hold your breath... can't get caught now... I don't want to die... not again...'

Lea's mind raced as she scooted as far back as she could without turning around, each rustle of her clothing making her freeze. Soon enough, the door to the laboratory was slammed open, and she could hear the door fall off its hinges from the sheer force it had just suffered. Hands over her mouth, Lea forced herself to not breathe and stared straight ahead as the leather-clad psychopath paced the room. It took less than a moment for the stranger to enter the room, still eerily silent as the sounds of their boots crept closer and closer.

The stranger stepped into view of the vent, but to Lea's luck, she didn't check the vent. The stranger wore a tattered hooded cape and a purple bodysuit, the material of which looked more akin to a wet suit than a tactical one. Under the hood, Lea could see that the woman was wearing a gas mask. An attire Lea thought looked ridiculous, but at least this one was smarter than the other two captors who freely showed their faces. After taking another heart-stopping moment to inspect the room, the stranger turns toward the mysterious man.

"The prison and the laboratory are cleared. Subject 03 must have awoken sooner than planned and escaped. What else do you require of me?" The woman asked, her voice hollow and monotonous, sounding devoid of life. In fact, it wasn't just her voice that appeared lifeless; it was how she moved. How rigid everything was, the back perfectly straight, and almost like her movements weren't hers. It's not quite like a puppet on strings but more like an android. The grip Lea had over her mouth and nose tightened reflexively as she realized that had she stayed in her cell, this might have been what would have happened to her.

The man in the sunglasses steps into Lea's view, blocking it with his leather trench coat. Lea fought her body's instinct to start crawling away as fast as possible to keep herself as still and silent as possible.

"As much as I'm disappointed by her insolence, at least she's proving herself to be as intelligent as a Goddess should." Lea cringed internally at the man, spewing his delusion. "Valentine, do you know the location of Redfield and Alomar?" The man started to step forward, uncovering Lea's view as he slowly paced around the woman. His voice lowered considerably, taking on a menacing tone. The grimace adjourns his face as he towers over her, his eyes glowing faintly red.

'... Am I hallucinating now..?'

"They-... Chris?" The woman, Valentine, stuttered out, her voice cracking but sounding more alive than just a moment ago. The man in the sunglasses sighed before pulling a device from his inner pocket and aiming it at her. Lea's eyes were wide open, tears starting to peek out the corners from how long she hadn't blinked.

'... What the fuck did he do to her..?'

"No, I won't-..." The woman started to shout but suddenly let out a bloodcurdling scream as she dropped to the ground, twitching uncontrollably. Lea sat there, terrified by what she saw, feeling the burning anger building with each beat of her heart. Lea felt something else, something dark, something yearning to walk up to the son of a bitch and rip his throat out.

"Now, where is Chris Redfield and Sheva Alomar?" He repeated each word spat out with venom, daring Valentine to defy him again, the device still aimed at the woman as he towered over her still convulsing body. He released the button as he finished his sentence, the woman limp and silent.

"They're near the Monarch Room." She informed, her voice once again monotonous. Lea hated that, hated him, but she hated herself for being too much of a coward to step in and help. Lea could tell herself all she wanted that she couldn't help anyone if she was dead, but deep down, Lea knew it was fear that kept her there more than anything.

"Good girl, now let's go see them, shall we?" The man mocked, walking over to the locked door, pulling out a keycard, swiping it with more force than necessary, and nearly breaking the fingerprint scanner with how he smashed it down. A loud beeping noise rang as the psychopath held the door open, motioning for the woman to go first in a mock show of chivalry.

Valentine picked herself up from the ground with stiff limbs and rigid posture, swiftly walking through the doorway. The man lets the door shut, and another loud beeping noise fills the void, indicating that the door has auto locked itself.

Lea didn't move for a long time; she was sure that if she started scrambling to navigate the maze to vents now, the leather-clad psycho would find her immediately. So, she sat there, mentally counting up to a thousand, then counting down to be sure there was enough distance between her and them.

As soon as she felt safe enough to move, the teenager wasted no time crawling away as fast as possible, for once grateful that she was tiny and hobbit-sized to everyone else; otherwise, these vents would have been impossible to navigate.

Lea had no idea how long she'd been military-crawling her way through the labyrinth of cramped vents before finding another hatch that led to a room that wasn't filled with seemingly feral and violent people. The teen slowly pushed the vent cover open, thankful that the actual cover was attached by hinges, eliminating her worry about attracting unwanted attention.

Lea jumped down, landing on her feet a little more loudly than she wanted, but there was no way she could jump down without making any noise. She looks up, takes in the surrounding area, and notices the stone walls and the dirty and sandy floor. To her confusion, against the wall is a stone coffin surrounded by vases.

Curiously, she stepped forward, looking inside first, mindful of the fragile pottery. To her surprise, a case of rifle ammo was inside of it. Lea couldn't help but feel suspicious of the vase and its convenience, but it was also something she didn't want to question. She grabbed the vase, placed it on its side on the ground, and brought her foot down, smashing it swiftly. Lea stuffed the rifle ammo into her pockets. Just as she figured out where to run next, two people began shouting at each other.

One was another stranger's voice, this time a man. And the other was the same delusional baritone voice she had become very familiar with at this point and one she outright despised.

She couldn't ignore that tugging need to know from her mind, and Lea crept forward to investigate.

#resident evil #resident evil 5 #dragged into the blood #original character #Albert Wesker #Jill Valentine #a03 fanfic #a03 link #canon compliant

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prettyboykatsuki · 3 years

Text

♡ bakugou headcanons that feel like a warm hug ♡

➳wc ;; 1.2k (oh my god. what is wrong w me.)

➳ a/n ;; or my bakugou brain-rot that never goes away. thanks for being my comfort character, you fucking gremlin. forgive the silly title.

♡ always makes little adjustments to the environment for you. he’s observant to a fault so if there’s something even a little off and it happens to bother you, he’s trying to work around it.

♡ good at playing guitar but not good at reading music. he can throw something together if you give him a chance but he’s not good at trying to recreate someone elses memory. he’s not like.. musically gifted either but he likes how guitar sounds

♡ thinks about getting a lot of piercings in his ear because he thinks they’d look cool but is kind of too nervous? the idea of a needle going through his skin is a ick. when you start dating, he drags you to his appointments lol - won’t admit it but he thinks he looks so hot when he gets them. takes a bunch of selfies <3

♡ needs to be moving constantly. can’t sit completely still to save his life. when he listens to music, he moves his head. sometimes he just runs his thumb over his fingers.

♡ really, really bad at talking. not in the sense he can’t communicate (that too) but he just likes listening in conversation. rarely adds his own thing. but when he does - always accidentally says something super meaningful

♡ enjoys subtle physical touch because it is literally intimate he melts inside. a hand on his forearm or shoulder. your legs over his lap. small things that show how comfortable you are.

♡ likes being held cause he’s a big ass baby lmfao

♡ wont admit it but enjoy when you choose pretty or colorful bandages for his cuts he won’t himself but it’s like keeping you in his pocket wherever he goes.

♡ really needs you to find him attractive dslksjk it’s not that he ever thinks he’s particularly ugly. but he didn’t really assign importance to his appearance at any point in his life, yet now he puts in a scary amount of effort. readjusts his hair so much more, makes sure his clothes fit good. fixes his fuckin’ face lol

♡ likes chewing gum a lot and always has a pack on him. really proud of how big he can blow bubbles and will be a little sad if you’re unimpressed.

♡ is overly sentimental about things you’ve made him - especially if it’s something super dumb. you drew him a silly little sketch of him in a frog hat? it’s in his wallet behind his id. freaks out when he thinks he’s lost his wallet

♡ LOVES phone calls. yes he still hates talking. but the way his face looks when he listens to your voice. eyes half-lidded, shamelessly smiling - it’s so tender and so lovesick.

♡ terrible first grader hand-writing. he tries to write them for you in the beginning of your relationship (to be romantic or some shit) but they’re so incomprehensible pls. if he focuses on it - it can be legible but most of the time ... yea no.

♡ doesn’t favor tea or coffee but prefers tea if he has to drink one.

♡ crazy good at eyeballing measurement. even in baking. once made a perfectly good bread without weighing anything and doesn’t get why that’s so wild.

♡ has the phone on his text set to be bigger even though his eyes are fine.

♡ lets you do the layout thing on his iphone and decorate as you please. says he doesn’t care but when he sees you made it hero themed/fit with his aesthetic - he got so red it was so cute.

♡ hates shopping in store. will still always go with you because the one time you went alone a store clerk hit on you.

♡ so practical. he started couponing when he was in his early twenties like an old man. checks the news and weather the night before, every night. never misses doctors appointments.

♡ shit at any form of visual art. drawing, painting etc - cannot do it to save his life. but he tries. his hands shake when he tries to draw hearts for you

♡ blows the eyelashes off your cheek super gently whenever he notices. he’ll like.. take your face in his hands and blow so softly like he’s gonna hurt you.

♡ used to agree to make pinky promises with you as a joke. now though? automatically holds his pink out for you to take it. straight up pouts if you don’t.

♡ you two have a song and when it comes on, he’ll sing it back to you. any other time? any other song? he wont. but he always sings your song even without realizing, just mouths it.

♡ enjoys when you put your hands under his shirt and just leave them there and hug him like that. skin to skin contact is elite but only from you.

♡ hamsters adore this man. they just do.

♡ draws frowny faces on your eggs with hot-sauce

♡ soul leaves his body when you play with his hair and scratch his scalp. the tension in his neck literally disappears and he just sighs that shit relaxes him like crazy

♡ the first time he says i love you, you’re tying his tie for his first hero event. you’re telling him to that the color looks good on him and you’re smiling. it honestly it just slips. he went on to win an award that night.

♡ his favorite memory of the two of you was when you were trying to leave the grocery store one afternoon. it was raining heavy as shit. you pulled him in under your clear umbrella and just stood there. he doesn’t know why but that means a lot to him.

♡ cares a lot about his dads approval on his work specifically. him and his dad have a really specifc bond and he actually admires him quite a bit.

♡ nothing makes him cry like “im proud of you”. especially when it’s for something small. it’s just something he didn’t hear enough in a sincere way.

♡ likes fruit flavored sweets over chocolate (generally needs something to do w his mouth cause it helps him think. bad oral fixation) so he keeps little candies on him

♡ shit at video games. terrible at them with the exception of mario kart? for some reason.

♡ always loses his keys

♡ stutters every!single!time! he tries to compliment you. it’s been YEARS.

♡ takes a melatonin gummy before bed and always drinks a glass of water

♡ buys you flowers and keeps them too. like does the upkeep on it and replaces them if the wilt. suggests pressing them to keep them for longer.

♡ lowkey cries really easily. he just gets overwhelmed w his feelings some times and it makes him cry even if he doesn’t want too. you and the bakusquad are sworn to secrecy over it though

♡ wears his ring around his neck on a chain bc it’s easier to show off.

♡ naturally good at doing hair!

♡ likes sneakers but wears dr. scholl's because he walks a lot and is on his feet for most of the day w his job. just being careful.

♡ loves u a lot <3

#bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bnha x you #bnha x y/n #bnha imagines #bakugou imagines #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #im genuinely so obsessed with his man #he lives in my head rent free #like its not funny anymore #i literally am just so in love with him #no thoughts head empty only katsuki

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alcinadimitrescuwu · 3 years

Text

The Portrait (An Alcina x Maiden Fanfic)

You walk into the Atelier and find yourself once again gazing at the portrait of the Lady of the Castle, Lady Dimitrescu. She must have commissioned the portrait when she was younger because she looked like she was in her mid-20’s. She stands in an ivory-colored dress with a full skirt, holding a glass of wine. Her face is clear of her laugh lines, under-eye circles, and wrinkles but she is still as elegant and beautiful as ever. You move closer to get a better look and suddenly wonder who might have painted this portrait. Were they close to Lady Dimitrescu?

“Do you like it?”

You whirl around swiftly and find yourself face to face with Alcina Dimitrescu. The corner of her mouth quirks up in an amused grin, making her laugh lines indent into her cheekbones. Her golden eyes are glittering with mischief.

“Well?” she prompts.

You come back to yourself. “I-It’s lovely, my Lady,” you stammer. “Did you commission someone to make it for you?”

Alcina lets out a laugh like tinkling bells. “Why, yes. In fact you could say that the two of us were rather close.” She steps closer to you and the portrait, a knowing smirk on her face. “It was actually me that painted that portrait.”

“You?” you blurt out suddenly. Then you realize how rude you must sound. "Forgive me, my Lady,” you say, ducking your head in apology. “I meant no disrespect. I just didn’t know you were the artistic type.”

“Oh, I’ve dabbled in a lot of different art forms in my life, pet,” she says, and you see her eyes mist over as she reminisces. “I was classically trained in opera, I’ve painted landscapes and portraits, written poetry...I even was a jazz singer for a time. I made that portrait when I was 25. I was a very different woman than the one you see now.” She smiles self-deprecatingly. “Well, aside from the obvious, anyway.”

“It’s exquisite,” you breathe as you lean your head to get a better look at the portrait. You think of something and turn to her. “Do you still paint, my Lady?”

“Lately I’ve taken to sketching. And now that you know my secret,” she says, giving you a conspiratorial wink. “Perhaps I might come in here and do my sketching while you clean.”

You suddenly remember the actual purpose of why you came to this room in the first place. “Right! I need to polish the bells! I’ll just get started on that, then!”

You hear her chuckle low in her throat as you scramble up the ladder, taking out your polish. You look over back at her and she has sat down on the sofa, slipping a pair of pearl chain half-moon spectacles over her nose. She takes out her pens and charcoal, flips to a new page in her sketchbook and bends her dark head down to work.

Soon you and Alcina have a little arrangement going where every time you enter the Atelier to work on your tasks, you know you will soon see Alcina ducking her head under the lintel to work on her sketching. While you are on the ladder, you sneak glances at her every so often. Her lashes kiss the tips of her cheekbones and her brow is furrowed in concentration. Sometimes you will look from her to the portrait and you conclude that if possible, her aging has made her even more beautiful.

You feel a hand on your back and jump making the ladder wobble slightly. The hand braces you against the ladder so you don’t fall and you hear a soft chuckle behind you. “I’m sorry, dear. I suppose I should have announced my presence beforehand. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s not a problem,” you say and you feel color flood your cheeks as you see you are truly face to face with Alcina Dimitrescu. Her face is merely inches from yours. Her golden eyes catch the light from the chandelier and up close you see they are not just golden but with hints of silver around the iris.

“There’s this spot around the gears that doesn’t get enough attention that I’d like to show you,” Alcina hands hover around your waist. “May I?”

You nod your consent and she gently moves you on the ladder until you’re on the other side. She bends down and whispers in your ear. “Just between the cog and the gear. Do you see it?” The smell of her perfume is intoxicating. You nod that you understand and she smiles. “Good! I know you always do a thorough job and I wanted to bring that to your attention.” With that she settles back down and resumes her sketching.

This goes on for a while, you working while Alcina is sketching. Occasionally she will take a break and stand nearby observing you as you work. You find it difficult to concentrate when she is around but she eventually smiles to herself saying, “Yes. Very good,” before returning to her seat. A couple times you are not certain but you think you might have seen a flush creep up her cheekbones before she resumes her sketching.

A couple of weeks of this go by and you notice Alcina is not satisfied with the progress of her drawing. You see that she is erasing more often and often starts from a completely new page in her sketchbook. “No, no, this isn’t right!” you hear her say aloud one day. You chance a look at her as you are on the ladder polishing the candlesticks. She is furiously scribbling on the sketchpad and when a loose lock of her ebony hair falls into her eyes, she pushes it impatiently away. You try to lean down further to get a better look. You’ve seen how talented she is, surely the sketch couldn’t be that bad…

Suddenly you feel the ladder twist from under you as you lose your balance. Your arms pinwheel helplessly in the air as you try to regain your footing but to no avail. You shut your eyes tight as you fall, hoping at the most you’ll just sprain an ankle.

Instead of the hard floor, you fall into something soft. You open your eyes and jolt back as you see Alcina’s aureate eyes staring back into yours. She chuckles. “It appears I cannot do much but startle you these days it seems.” She looks at you with a concerned expression. “Are you all right, dear?”

“Yes, my Lady, I’m fine,” you mumble. You blush scarlet as you are very aware that her gloved hand is on your upper thigh, your skirt riding up in her haste to catch you. She becomes aware of this too and smoothes your skirt down, murmuring an apology, but not before you catch the blush in her cheeks.

She turns her head quickly away to hide it, her hat covering her profile. “Would you like to take a moment and rest, dear? You’ve been working so hard, you deserve a break.”

You nod soundlessly and she takes you over to the sofa where she has been doing her sketching. She closes her sketchbook with a snap before you can get a good look at it.

A maid arrives with Alcina’s afternoon tea. “Set out an extra cup for Y/N, if you please,” she commands the parlor maid. The maid nods and pours you both cups of steaming apple cinnamon tea, perfect for a cold winter’s day.

When the maid bows and leaves, you turn to Lady Dimitrescu. You clear your throat. “Um, my Lady?”

She smiles at you over her teacup. “Yes, pet?”

You can’t help it. You’re positively burning with curiosity at this point. “What have you been drawing?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Alcina’s cheekbones flood with color. “Oh, it’s nothing special really,” she says hurriedly. “Just some scribbles.”

You can hardly believe it. Was Lady Dimitrescu, usually so full of pride and grace, embarrassed? You see a scrap of paper on the ground near the sofa and pick it up. Alcina tries to stop you but you’ve already turned it over in your hands. You let out a little gasp of surprise as you see what Alcina has been drawing all this time.

There on the paper is a charcoal drawing of you polishing the bells. In the corner of the page is a closeup of you, your face shining in the chandelier light.

You look back at her, your mouth open in shock. When you finally gain the ability to form words, you ask, “Is this what you’ve been working on all this time, my Lady?” you ask quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Alcina nods and opens her sketchbook to show even more pages of you. You staring at her portrait, you reaching up on your toes on the ladder to dust off a high shelf, you pouring her tea. There are pages upon pages of your likeness.

Alcina turns her head to face you. “I must confess that I had been in need of a new muse for my art,” she says. “When I saw you gazing at my portrait, something stirred within me. There is something about you that draws me to you.” She takes your chin gently in her gloved hand.

“Your hair,” she says, and she takes off your cap and settles your unbound hair about your shoulders. “Even pinned under your cap, it cannot conceal its beauty.” She takes your hand in hers. “Your skin,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to the back of your hand, making you feel a pleasant shiver go down your arm. “How it shines under the lamplight. Your eyes.” She is moving ever closer. “The way I could get lost in those fathomless depths. And your lips…”

Her face is so close to yours now, her lips parted. “What about my lips?” you whisper, scarcely daring to breathe.

You are not quite sure who closes the distance between you first, but you are suddenly in Alcina’s arms and you are kissing her fiercely, your hands weaving their way through her ebony locks. Her hands settle themselves around your waist as her tongue gently parts your lips. You lay back on the sofa and bring her head gently down with you. She braces one hand on the side of the couch while the other gently holds the back of your head.

The sound of the clock chiming startles you, making you break apart suddenly. Alcina lets out a girlish giggle. “We simply have to do something about those nerves of yours, draga mea,” she purrs. You smile and lift your head up to receive her kiss again.

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #re8 village #re8 fanfiction #lady dimitrescu fanfic #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina x reader #alcina x maiden #lady dimitrescu x female reader #lady dimitrescu x maiden #alcina x female reader

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i-make-fun-of-spn-characters · 2 years

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ok, I have a question following a few hc's.

1 - a (crafty) friend and i have a differing hc about whether sam or cas knit (misha & sam smith do).

2 - there has recently been a post saying sam probably bounced around church groups while moving as a kid, bc they'd be friendly and feed him for free, etc etc.

3 - sam is a certified milf.

all these things together - do you think sam ended up in an old ladies' knitting circle at any point?

I do not share headcanon number 1 at all. I have never seen, in my life, Sam Winchester or angel of thee lord Castiel do anything that leads me to believe they have decent fine motor skills. I picture Sam as someone who would accidentally knock over glasses of water on the table because of his long, gangly limbs, and while an excellent cataloguer and researcher with many talents, is helpless with arts and crafts. Look at the way he and Cas torture people. Stab slash “where is my brother” versus “let me shove my entire hand into your chest”. There is no finesse or artistry to it. There is no fine tuning. Sam can kind of draw a tree but his people drawings look like they were drawn by an 8 year old. He never helps with loading, cleaning, and checking weapons either so I can only assume he drops the bullets everywhere when he tries. I cannot picture a world in which Sam could finely coordinate his limbs to the point that he could knit. I think Cas is too impatient for knitting. He would try to make a hat or something then after five minutes he would make the whole project burst into flames in pure frustration. He still doesn’t know how to make this stupid corpse work for him when it comes to the fine motor skills. That wavelength of celestial intent cannot stand trying to do fine motor skill things in a vessel. It’s like having to do everything with the finesse of the claw machine at an arcade to him and it infuriates him too much to even try to get better.

That said, perhaps in his old age, Sam began knitting and joined a knitting circle. I bet he did try to learn at various points in his life and was absolutely invited many times throughout his life but it‘s his secret embarrassment—not that he wants to knit but that he sucks at it.

#i also cannot knit btw and my grandma has tried to show me how to crochet several times and I do not have the patience cas coded ig #mail #i’m right you can’t argue with me

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mallowstep · 3 years

Text

(nature; nurture)

You know the truth of yourself in pieces.

* * *

You are three, sitting on your mother's lap.

"And you understand this is a life-long commitment?"

"Yes," she says.

"And Mothkit, Frogkit, and Hawkkit, do you want Feathertail to be your mother?"

"She is our mama," Hawkkit says, and the woman laughs.

"That settles it, then."

* * *

Growing up is not a balloon inflating, the way you once pictured it. It is a crab moulting over and over again, exposing its softest parts, in hopes it survives.

* * *

You are the first to go to kindergarten. Only by a few minutes, but still. That feels like it counts for something.

You kiss your mother's cheek, and then drop your bag. A man crouches down beside you. "And what's your name?"

"Mothkit!" you say, and he shows you where to put your bag. You glance back at your mother as you venture deeper into the classroom. She wipes a few tears from her eyes.

* * *

Unlike a crab, you cannot reabsorb what you lose. Your teeth are collected in a box, exchanged for a few quarters, occasionally a dollar. Your hair is swept up and thrown away. You go shopping, and now there are two sections you have to examine. One for you, one for your brothers.

* * *

Stormheart picks you up for school, and no one is waiting in the passenger seat. You all climb in, and you end up stuck in the middle.

"Where's Mama?" you ask.

"She's at home," Stormheart says. He glances back at you for a second, smiling. "She's just having a bad day."

You kick off your shoes at the door when you get home, dropping your bag on the kitchen table. Your brothers are slower, but you peek through the crack in her door before Stormheart catches up with you.

She's asleep, not facing you. Mistyfoot is on the other side of the bed, reading a book.

Stormheart scoops you up. "Come on, bug," he whispers. "Let's go play outside."

* * *

But your soft parts stay the same, just growing between each exchange. You ask her about your father many times, and her answers drift, circling around a truth you want her to finish. You slip into her room after having a nightmare, and find her sobbing. You make a family tree, and stare frustrated at the missing names.

* * *

You follow her out to the garden. Frogpaw spends more time out here than you do, but you're bored, and your mother is here, digging tiny troughs into the earth.

You cross your legs on the grass beside her. She smiles at you. "Are you going to stay out here?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want a hat?"

"No." The sun is warm, and you lean down, your elbows pressing into the dirt. "What are you planting?"

"Poppies," she says. "Do you want to help?"

You shake your head. Feathertail takes a handful of sandy dirt, and pours the bag of seeds onto it.

"Mama?" you ask, and she lifts her brow. "What's assault?"

Feathertail pauses what she's doing, and looks questioningly at you. "Where'd you hear that?"

"It was on a TV show." You fidget with blades of grass. "I wasn't really watching."

Feathertail sighs. "It's -- when you hurt someone," she says. "When you attack them."

* * *

But you are not a crab. You are a girl, and you are changing. Your father sends you a letter and asks you if you're a help to your mother. You grapple with the undeniable proof he's in prison, like she explained a year or two ago. You shoot up past your brothers over the summer, and have to buy new clothes. A new garment comes with it. Feathertail cleans a few things out of a room you can't think of as hers, and it becomes yours. Your soft parts move, find new places in need of protection.

* * *

Sometimes, you want to explain everything to Leafpaw, all in one breath. You want to say, My mother didn't give birth to me, but I know who did, and I was not wanted, except that I was, and my father believes I am capable of nothing, and my period has started, and I don't know what that means, and I think you are beautiful.

You don't say any of that.

* * *

But you are not a crab, so you find traces of your past exoskeletons, the ones that didn't fit. A shirt you wore five years ago. A diary you can barely understand. A folded piece of paper you do not open. They don't make sense with who you are, and yet, they are who you were.

* * *

Shadepelt teaches you how to use make up. Feathertail and Mistyfoot don't wear any, but she does, and she makes it look easy and fun and flawless.

It's much harder when you have to do it.

Hawkpaw and Stonefur arrive home when you are scrubbing it off in the bathroom downstairs. You don't come down here very often, and it is strange to think that this space is a part of your home.

When your face is clean, you trudge upstairs. The air is tense, Hawkpaw and Frogpaw staring across the kitchen table at each other, Feathertail watching them.

"I'm -- allowed to know," Hawkpaw says.

"What do you want to know?" Frogpaw says. "We know everything we need to."

"Maybe you do," Hawkpaw says.

You glance at Feathertail. Her back is to you.

You slide unnoticed into your room, and pull out the stack of letters from your father. You read them all once, exactly, and then add them to the stack you keep in your bottom desk drawer. There's no point in rereading them.

But you run your thumb over them, listening to the way the old, dried paper crinkles.

Frogpaw is asking the wrong question. It's why Hawkpaw wants to know that matters.

* * *

Freshman year draws to a close, and you think you are in your final moult. Leafpaw falls asleep on your shoulder on the way home from a field trip, and you hold hands as you wait to be picked up. You haven't outgrown any clothes in months, and your brothers are now taller than you. You look in the mirror, and realize this will always be the face that looks back at you.

* * *

There is always talk. You try to ignore the worst of it,

("Well, Hawkpaw is a creep," and, "I heard their mother doesn't love them," and, "Bet you can't wait to see your daddy,")

but that's easier said then done.

Leafpaw squeezes your hand. "They don't know what they're talking about," she says.

But they do. That's the problem. They're wrong, but they know what they're talking about.

A junior Mothpaw doesn't know sits beside her at lunch, in Leafpaw's space.

"You should move," Squirrelpaw says.

"No one's sitting here."

"Someone will be."

True to form, as soon as Leafpaw bursts into the cafeteria, she forces herself between Mothpaw and the junior.

The junior rolls her eyes. "I was wondering," she begins, "how you feel about the death penalty."

* * *

There are still old memories you revisit. Feathertail is hospitalized for the third time you can remember, and you log your hours for drivers' ed as you practice making the trip back and forth.

* * *

On Halloween, you take the bucket of candy Feathertail gave the three of you to share and sit on the back porch. Frogpaw and Hawkpaw keep stuffing their faces long after you've finished, and you feel like you're witnessing something obscene.

"I did some math," Frogpaw says. "We were born a month early." He throws a candy bar up, and it lands on his stomach. "Means we were conceived around New Years."

He throws the bar up again, and this time it lands in his hands.

"You ever want to throw a party? Just one. Make a bunch of food for dinner and sit around the table and call all the different dishes courses?"

"What the hell are you saying?" Hawkpaw asks.

"I think i'm just saying something," Frogpaw says. "I think I'm just hoping if I say enough things, I'll find the right thing to say.

* * *

You get your license. It says your name on the card, Mothpaw, daughter of Feathertail, and ask for permission to drive the car.

You don't have a plan for where you're going, and you end up in front of a cathedral.

* * *

The stress of junior year threatens to break you. College applications loom, your classes grow teeth, and you start to bicker with Leafpaw over petty things.

You read over the essay requirement for colleges, and think about what kind of essay you could write. Because there's really only one story worth telling, and it feels wrong, to type out all of your family to a stranger.

It makes you glad you started early. "My mother was fourteen when we were born," you write, and then scratch out. "My father is alive. We know who the other is. I've never met him," you write, and then erase. "I don't know who I am," you write, and then you keep writing.

* * *

At some point, you decide you don't believe. But. You keep coming back. There is something reassuring in routine. Your family doesn't ask where you are going, and you don't volunteer it. Sunday morning. There's some kind of peace, in having the time to sit and think and be.

* * *

"I think I've messed everything up," Leafpaw says. "I've gone about this all the wrong way, and now, everything is terrible, and this is all my fault, Mothpaw, I'm sorry-"

You kiss her, and then lean your forehead against hers. "We're both at fault," you say. "Besides. Maybe the honeymoon is over. We've got lives to attend."

And Leafpaw, inextricably, is part of that life. You can think of the essays you would've written about her. How her hair looks brown until it catches the sun, and then it shines like red glass. How she stomps when she is excited. How she links arms with you and says you're going shopping until you find your family Christmas gifts.

* * *

They invite you to a class, but it feels strange, knowing you don't believe. How do you say, I am here, and I am not, and I don't think you'd really want me.

You don't. You kneel down and offer a prayer to a god you don't believe in. Maybe it will catch.

* * *

Feathertail listens to you practice your speech.

"I'm so proud of you," she says. "You know that, right?"

You nod. She tells you this often, but something about her tone makes your throat catch. You've outgrown the days when Feathertail's arms could surround you, but even so, you start to cry when she hugs you.

"I love you," you say.

"I love you too," she says. She settles back onto the couch, wrapping her hands around a mug of tea.

This is the truth of who you are. This is what you will always fail to capture. How can you describe how the light streams inside at an angle that you've always known, one that makes the dust swirl through it? How can you describe the books on the coffee table, how each book has been read and loved, not merely thrown there for decoration? How can you describe yourself in any way but being there?

* * *

You meet your father's eyes. You know them. You have seen them in the mirror.

* * *

You hold your diploma in one hand, stopping for a photo. You were the first to enter kindergarten, you were the last to leave high school.

The excited chatter in the air is a reminder of what this day is. You have all bought your final yearbooks, signed names and numbers you won't remember in a few months. You're in it a few times -- Feathertail and Leafpaw delighted in hunting for your every appearance -- and you think, maybe it is okay if you are pieces.

There is something whole and solid that is made of them.

#mine #human misty au #mothwing #feathertail #yes i will make you read my long second person fiction #leafpool #mothpool

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micromushroom · 3 years

Text

☼ BNHA Dorm Headcanons☼

Synopsis: What I think the dorms of characters would look like

Genre: Just general headcanons

W.K.: ~1.25k in all

C.W.: none

Characters ft: Bakugou, Tsuyu, & Shinsou

(~450 words)

This could go in so many different directions

My first thought is that if PlanetFitness™ was condensed it would be this man’s room

But honestly I see him more as a person to workout outside and do more active things whilst being productive

It’s canon that he likes hiking, so I feel like a lot of the equipment in his room would be based off of that

If anything, he probably has a few weights (like dumbbells) that are lying around

Has most definitely kicked one on accident at night walking around his room

I feel like it’s relatively plain but over time becomes more clustered

The Bakusquad will start randomly leaving or putting things in Bakugou’s room

It can be anything from Denki leaving little dollar store trinkets on Bakugou’s desk; to Kiri making random things out of garbage in class and putting it on Bakugou’s shelf

He doesn’t strike me as someone to have a lot of pictures or memorabilia, but there’s little pictures on the wall by his bed with sticky tack photos of his friends throughout the years

He’s an All Might fanboy at heart, but I doubt he has as much physical display of this as Midoriya

I headcanon that there’s posters and like some rare collectibles of action figures and merch

Inko made him a throw blanket as a kid for his birthday of All Might and he still has it at the end of his bed

Despite it being relatively clustered with small things in some places (again, courtesy of the Bakusquad), it’s still pretty clean and spacious

His curtains are usually closed, so the only possibility for plants that he could sustain are either fake or don’t survive for long

Since his parents are both fashion designers, his closet is full of clothing that he’ll probably never wear from name brands all over

His desk serves as a multiple purpose space: homework, charging station, and bookshelf

Bakugou’s bed is always made and—as much as I hate to say it—he probably only sleeps with two pillows—three on occasion

He has a speaker that he uses whenever he’s not doing homework, but it’s probably super loud (headcanoning that he’s partly deaf from his quirk)

His closet alone could be an entirely different post

Overall, Bakugou’s room is kind of dark and a tad bit more grunge themed

Kirishima leaves Bakugou lots of little notes saying things like are either:

“Hey Bakubro, can you help with math please? :D” to

“Remember to hydrate and take a break” with a little thumbs up doodle

Lots of self notes too reminding him of what he has to do and his schedule for the day

(~340 words)

Tsu canonically has all of the attributes—strengths and weaknesses—that a frog does

For this reason, I think that she has humidifiers and just temperature regulations throughout her room

Lots of plants and art prints, mainly from friends

Little lily pad shaped fairy lights strung across her room

I picture her room as having a lot of plants like ivy and vines, but also a lot of really exotic plants

Lots of pillows and blankets

Like at least five pillows and her bed is most definitely up against the wall

The blankets range from those really thin 50x50” ones to comforters to really fluffy and warm blankets

Hear me out—stuffed animals

I think that her friends go out with her to like, the mall, and end up coming back with a lot of stuffed animals

Throw pillows and rugs are main staples of Tsu’s room

Super comforting place and relaxing, but it can become kind of humid

Frequent naps at Tsu’s dorm bedroom have become so common that she has little bean bag seats that people sleep on

Color palette of greens and pinks

Think of a pastel version of kid core, with the mixed color fabrics

Her closet is also an entirely different post, but I’m picturing bucket hats and pastel overalls with different colors and patch sizes

You know those framed glass cases of bugs? Yes, those but a lot of them

Like they’re hanging up by pictures of her friends

Butterflies, iridescent winged beetles, etc.

Like the wood around them is an orangish color and honestly I might just draw this up later

I cannot stress this enough, but pictures of her friends both in and out of school as well as pictures of her family and herself growing up

Post cards from all over pinned up on her walls and cork boards

Generic, I know, but frog themed little details that are mainly jokes

Music isn’t as loud or used as Bakugou, but when she does play music, it’s most likely a shared playlist that everyone created

(~490 words)

Straight up, grunge. kid. bedroom.

Gotta put aside my biases for him for the rest of this

Either looks like a vacant room or the pure embodiment of a teenage boy’s room

I’m going with the latter for the rest of this

Clothes and trash are just all over the floor, save for a few spaces

His bed has been made once, maybe twice

But it is the most comfortable shit you would ever sleep in

I speak from experience of my own bed

Posters line the wall so much to the point where there’s very little actual wall space

These range from prints he likes, bands, movies, heroes he admires Aizawa, to joke posters like, “Live, Laugh, Love <3” and, “~Home is where the heart grows fonder~”

The LED lights desperately need a battery change because it’s more of a dim light, but that’s for another time to change

Jackets and hoodies over his chairs

Has a little gaming station beside his desk

I choose to believe his gaming chair and setup itself is the biggest thing that he has splurged on

The side of his monitor and the top of his desk are covered in stickers he’s collected over the years

Tapestry over his bed

Vintage cassette and record albums

As cluttered as everything is, it’s still somewhat spacious because the clutter is grouped together to provide a walkway

Much like myself, his closet is somewhat bare because all of his clothing he wears is from piles of clean and dirty clothing on the floor

Signature purple and black bedding and overall theme

There’s always music, like no matter what, but the difference between Shinsou and Bakugou is that Shinsou’s music is usually quiet

Wide variety of music, but at night it’s his an entirely different playlist of Lofi

He may not sleep at night 9/10, but at least it isn’t as chaotic and exhausting

Collection of bottle caps and tabs by his bed

Water bottles are everywhere, but at least the majority of them are refilled

At this point I’m just naming off how my room is rn

Half of his chargers are broken or living on 1%

Hair ties that are clinging onto life have their own little dish on his desk

Usually the curtains and blinds are closed

On the back of his door there’s a coat rack that’s used exclusively for his bag and also the capture weapon

Weights and overall workout equipment are frequently used but also so easily lost

The Grind Never Stops

I think the only pictures he would have would be of like sneaked pictures of him and Aizawa training

Aizawa’s in the back doing whatever pose and Shinsou’s either hold up a blurry peace sign to the camera or painfully imitating it

They’re a little frayed at the edges most of the time, but it just makes them more sentimental and fit in with the aesthetic

11/10, would recommend vibing in his room

#bnha #bnha headcanons #boku no hero academia #mha headcanons #micro writes #bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia tsuyu #bnha tsuyu #tsuyu asai #tsuyu x reader #mha shinsou #bnha shinso hitoshi #shinsou hitoshi #shinso hitoshi #shinsou x reader

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supremeinlilac · 3 years

Text

Into the light (I'll hold you)

Pairing: Coven!Cordelia Goode x Fem!Reader

Prompt: Slow dancing in the greenhouse.

Word Count: 2557

Warnings: Self doubt, angst.

A/n: Canon divergent, H*nk doesn't exist and Delia's acid attack never happened, although she has still had the Sight previously. Was saving this fic but fuck it, I'm posting it now😌

Halloween.

The night of eerie suspense and the lingering sense of being watched. You enjoyed the days festivities when you were younger, skipping excitedly door to door under a white sheet with your friends.

This Halloween would be your second at Miss Robichaux’s, the first you’d all gone out to a party and got a little too drunk, returning to an irritated Ms Goode. It had been the first time you’d kissed her, and she’d rejected you because of the state you’d been in.

Still, it was the night that had started the path of your relationship with the headmistress.

You loved Halloween.

This year, Fiona Goode, reigning Supreme, returned to the academy. You were instantly weary of her, due to the fact Delia never liked to bring her mother up in conversation of her past. When you’d overheard her telling your girlfriend that she was wasted potential in the school, a prickle of icy anger called the hair at the nape of your neck to stand rigid.

You and the rest of the witches had decided to stay in, watch films and play games. It wasn’t often that everyone could get together to celebrate an evening where witches were celebrated, so they wanted to make the most of the friendly atmosphere that surrounded them. It never lasted long in the coven.

Fiona went out to a bar, her witches hat crooked atop her head and you found yourself glaring at her as she left. The woman alit a flame inside you, one that easily spread and engulfed your powers, fire licking hotly at the tips of your fingers and threatened to overpower you.

Cordelia had stayed behind with you, much to her mother protest, to have a quiet night while the rest of the hubbub would be concentrated in the living room. You were both wrong to think that there’d be no disturbances.

The shattering of glass fractured the silence in your shared room with Cordelia. She’d been braiding your hair, an intimacy that the pair of you rarely found time to do together. She hummed the song you were sung as a child, a habit that she’d picked up in your time at the coven, the action now second nature. It no longer only served to soothe you, but now it brought her comfort too.

Her fingers stilled in your hair, head snapping to the door. You heard a couple of loud thuds and shouts, and then her hand was clutching yours protectively.

“Hey Cordelia?” You heard Queenie shout up the stairs, “you best look outside.”

She was off the bed like it had burned her, drawing the curtains back to show the slow advance of the people outside. You heard her shaky inhale, before she fisted her hands in her trousers and turned to you.

“It’s just the locals. Playing tricks on us, you know how Madison likes to irritate them the rest of the year. Lord knows we’re not the best neighbours,” her face looked serious but the waver in her voice betrayed her. She sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than you.

It had been a blur after that, shouting and running, and Cordelia slipped out of your grasp. You’d been fighting, had a kitchen knife pressed into your hand by, Zoe, maybe? No. It had been one of the other girls.

They wouldn’t die, those zombies, if that’s even what they were. You’d slashed at a part of them that they shouldn’t have been able to get back up from. Yet it did, limbs flailing and reaching spindly towards you.

Knocked to the ground, you think you must have passed out. But not before you’d seen Cordelia trying to defend the house, eyes furious and scared and dark.

You remembered the purr of the chainsaw, the splatter of blood. The silence that hung after.

The next day you found Cordelia sat at her usual bench in the greenhouse, frows furrowed in concentration as she mixed ingredients with the gentle crack of test tubes and vials. You could see the anguish behind hooded eyes, it was clear that she’d been restless last night, down here long past when everyone else slept.

You had seen her from your window as you’d been drawing the curtains the night before, standing over the pile of haphazardly thrown bodies of the zombies. You weren’t sure how long she’d spent there, not wanting to disturb her until now.

She’d also been absent at both breakfast and dinner, with the excuse of paperwork, but you could see through the thinly veiled lie. You brought her a sandwich and a yogurt, setting them down on a bench before pulling a chair up beside her to watch her work.

Cordelia could mix potions and restore plants without thinking, her craft a lovingly perfected dance in which he moved around the greenhouse with practised ease, plucking vials off the shelves and balancing glassware in steady hands.

Her hands shook. Slightly, almost unnoticeable was the small tremor but it indicated her unease. There was blood still crusted under her fingernails.

You softly coaxed her to put the glass down with fingers around her wrists, guiding her to look at you before lazily lacing your fingers together. She whispered a greeting with a small smile, almost as if she hadn’t registered your presence until you’d touched her.

“I feel like I failed everyone. My girls.” Her voice cracked languidly, eyes falling to where your hands joined on her lap, her nails scraping at your skin nervously. “How can I be headmistress when I cannot protect you all?”

“It’s not your job to do it all alone.” You reminded her gently, thumb brushing over whitened knuckles, following the dip and contour of her skin. “Cordelia.”

A single droplet of shimmering water does not sink a ship. A single cloud cannot shield the sun. A single parent could spend years doubting their worth, unaware that it takes a village to raise a child.

No single person can bear the weight of the world’s troubles without crumbling.

Not even Cordelia, whom you thought could harness the sun if she willed it, could do everything herself. It simply was an unrealistic expectation that her mother had used to weigh her down with.

“Look at me, baby. You are not alone, okay?”

When her head lifted slowly, the light caught the water in her eyelashes, diamond tears shimmering and rolling down the curve of reddened cheeks. You were quick to coo at her, hand coming to cradle her face so you could lean to kiss them away, salt on your tongue.

She shook her head, refusing to look at you and you felt hopeless, like a bystander on the site of an accident. As much as you tried to couldn’t get close enough to her to help, to comfort her as she needed. Running in a dream, tripping over a mere breath and wading through syrup as you tried to escape.

“I’m a failure.”

You found yourself shaking your head, the phantom of a protest falling from your lips, how could Cordelia think that.

“Everything that Fiona says is true.” She continued, head falling into her arms on the desk. Your hand rested on her back, a gentle reminder of the comfort you could give her if only she asked for it. If only she would accept it when you would give it to her anyway.

“I don’t belong here.” Whispered from under her hair which hid her.

Cordelia didn’t realise her own worth, and you wondered if anyone ever truly does.

Does the night sky know its beauty? Or does it envy the blue of the day? Does it wait for the sun to kiss its head and grant it eternity. The night sky is rich with light, if it would only look deep enough within itself to find it. Burning stars and planets reflecting the sun, a kaleidoscope of colour on an ebony canvas.

Cordelia would often look at pictures of her absent mother when she believed to be alone. She was secretly envious of Fiona’s effortless graceful command and hold that she had over the whole coven. She believed her own magical abilities to be inferior to that of the Supreme’s, but it was an unfair comparison, for a Supreme would always persist.

She thought that it meant hers weren’t strong enough, scared for eventualities like the previous night, that she would fail at the role of protector. But she hadn’t failed, she’d fought just like you and Zoe, and it was just the luck of the draw that Zoe’s fear would trigger her Power Negation.

But Cordelia held such raw natural, burning potential that you’d habitually find yourself staring as she practised spells. Eyes following the deft flow of her fingers as she’d manipulate movement. She’d had the second sight within her, so at least on a subconscious level she must know her power.

“You belong here. And look around you, look at this place. Yourgreenhouse.”

“You made it into what it’s become. It’s you.” You spoke, letting yourself spin to appreciate all the work she’d put into this place, into herself.

Cordelia lifted her head, hair falling from her eyes and crowning her face as she followed your gaze to the hanging planters, the glass vials. To the floor that she’d swept only days ago, leaves starting to litter the stone again.

She watched you run fingertips over the exposed brick on the wall, your attention solely on her work around you. She could see the adoration in the iris’ of your eyes, alight with your honesty. You gaze returning, always, to her as you walked to her.

Tentatively, you reached out for her. Was she yet ready to accept your help, your love as you wanted to give it to her?

Still unsure, Cordelia shied away from your comforting touch, head returning to her hands.

“You don’t have to live behind Fiona’s words anymore.” You whispered into her temple, as if straight into her mind.

Sometimes it is easier to live in the shadows than to confront those who cast them.

She’d spent her whole life cowering in Fiona’s shadow, growth and development stunted from the lack of light. Self-belief fractured into a gaping crack.

She’d been trapped, dark and alone with a mother figure who didn’t love her in a way she understood how to be loved. They both loved each other then, and ove each other now, but sometimes mere love isn’t enough. It isn’t consistent enough to be safe. You can love someone and still hurt them.

You had spent time working on her confidence, creeping back into the light and into herself again. Breaking down the thoughts that had grown to immobile threatening walls that only served to block the light more.

All it had taken was one night of Fiona being back for all that progress to retreat back to where they’d been hidden. Cordelia had urged you then to back away, to leave her and grow by yourself, that she was only holding you back.

But you gritted your teeth and grinned in the face of the devil. You weren’t scared of the dark. And you’d be damned if you were leaving it without your girlfriend. Even if you had to start right back at the beginning, you’d help her to heal.

“You could be the next Supreme.” You urged, pulling her head from where it rested on the table, forcing her to look in your eyes and see your honesty.

“Don’t say things that aren’t true.” She begged, vision hazed by tears.

“But it is true, Delia. You’re so powerful.” You pressed, eyes conveying your severity like your voice couldn’t. Willing her to believe.

You reached to brush the tears that clung to her eyelashes before they fell and stained her face. A lingering kiss to her lips, the feeling of her lower lip wobbling between your own. In that moment, you could feel her fragility.

You didn’t want to push further, knowing that she may never truly believe in her full potential like you did. Instead, you pushed yourself to feet and bounced in front of her. She looked up in confusion, eyes still full with tears that caught the light, and you wanted nothing more than to kiss them away again. They didn’t deserve to dampen her skin.

“Dance with me?” You asked, standing and offering a hand the way you’d so often seen in movies.

A shy smile formed on the headmistress’ lips, cheeks pink and the tips of her ears flushed as she allowed herself to be pulled from her seat. Into the shine of the moonlight, which shone beams of liquid silver through the glass onto the hard stone and the soft of Cordelia.

Your arms secured themselves around her waist while hers stroked the back of your neck. Moments like this made you wonder if perhaps the cliché’s people told you about love had been true. Maybe this could be forever. It always felt like forever when you were in her arms.

You swayed to phantom music, slow and deliberate, soft touches and kisses on bare shoulders. You felt like even a whisper would shatter the perfect peace you’d enveloped you both in, sending ripples of doubt over the sheer water and to Cordelia again.

The moon felt like perfect company in that moment, like a third person, watching and waiting. A witness to the silent change.

Cordelia pressed her forehead to yours, her fingers splayed through the hair at the back of your head, holding you close. You could see the depth of her eyes, searching for the lie in yours that wasn’t there to find. You truly believed that she was the next Supreme, she had to be.

“Say something.” She breathed, hand on your waist dancing under the hem of your top, cold fingers on warm skin.

“Like what?” You asked, pulling back momentarily so you could smile at her. The hand that was behind your head tucked hair behind your ear and brought your hand from her shoulder so she could press lips to your knuckles. The ridge of bone under the soft of her skin and then she was hugging you again.

“Anything, I just want to hear your voice.”

So you told her about yourself. Stories she’d never heard and memories you’d thought you’d forgotten. Whispers of your past shared with your future.

She nuzzled her chin into the crook of your neck and listened, breathing deep the smell of your perfume that clung, lingering to the collar of your clothes.

A laugh.

Rippling up your throat at reminiscing a memory, vibration muffled against her ear at your jaw, and Cordelia swore that she could feelyour emotions. Truly feel you, and she realised that you couldn’t lie to her. Couldn’t will yourself to say something untrue just to still the aching beat of her heart within her chest.

You couldn’t make yourself want to mend her. You didn’t want that. You wanted to help her heal. Heal from her past that held less joy and laughter than yours did.

You wanted to help her create memories of her own, just like this.

Slow dancing in the greenhouse.

Dancing in the dark under the glow of the patient moon.

taglist: @pearplate @billiedeansbottom @okpaulson @pluied-ete @magnifique-monstre @extraordinarilycelestrial @mssallymckenna @magnificent-paulsonn @shineestark @commanderspeach @grilledcheeseandguavajelly @darling-dontforgetme @amethyst-bitch @its-soph-xx @germansarechill @bluesxrgnt @d14n4ol @ninaahs @sarahp-stan @natasha-danvers @imgayandmymomdoesntknow @lovelypeasantjellyfish @rainbow-hedgehog @paulawand @saucy-sapphic @lilypadscoven @citizenoftheworld-stuff-blog @venablemayfairgoode @serawalkerwrites @sapphicsarahpaulson @delias-bitch-craft ,, if you want to be added sent me an ask or reply to this post <3

#sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #cordelia goode #cordelia goode x reader #american horror story #ahs coven #ahs fic

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midnightmoonkiss · 3 years

Note

now you got me THINKING:

reader picking the lock to her holding cell for the hell of it, wandering the deck at night and catching deku muttering to himself, compass in one hand, tugging at his lips with the other, to which she helps him using scraps of knowledge she picked up from her snob of a father, learning her father was the the reason for a few of his scars in past battles, tracing them gently and explaining how she hates her life and blah blah bLha my brain rot is REALL

YESS OMFG???? HOLD ON I GOTTA.. GOTTA WRITE THIS..

Kidnapped By A Pirate (Cont.)

Pirate Deku X Fem! Reader

This basically is a continuation of this short fic, only going further into the early-on relationship between Captain Midoriya and you, (Y/N).

Category: fluff I guess?

Word Count: 2.3k

Just To Clarify:

This is a continuation

“You know,” His mellifluous voice startled you, “It’s awfully rude to stare.”

The sentence sliced through the silence of the night like the sharp sword resting upon his jutting hip.

The sea was calm and the moon was full, not a cloud in the sky. Stars shimmered brightly above, milky way weaving through each dot of light.

And here you stood, on a pirate ship.

Gathering your bearings, you inhale sharply through your nose, the salty scent of the sea nearly making you gag,

“It’s awfully rude to kidnap someone and throw them into a dirty old cell with no food or water as well.”

His hearty chuckle made you gulp, the tickling of butterflies has no place in your stomach. Not now. Preferably not ever with him, but most pirates did have this.. salacious charm to them.

“Very true…” He sighed, “Forgive me.”

The fact that you were having this conversation with his back infuriated you.

He didn’t care enough about your escape from your cell in the dead of night, when all his crewmen were asleep, to even pay you full attention.

It was as if he viewed you as the least frightening and threatless thing on this vessel, a harmless, stowaway mouse.

Swallowing the lump of logical fear lodged in your parched throat, you strung together all the courage you had on you with a flimsy string and strode over to him, hands fisting the fabric of your dress.

The pirate was leaning against the railing of his ship, staring down at a dirty compass resting in the palm of his large hand, lip pulled between his thumb and index finger and he studied the spinning of the needle trapped behind cracked glass.

His features from behind became clearer with every cautious step you took, messy green curls pulled into a ponytail, few strings of loose hair framing his chiseled face. He was practically glowing in the light of the moon that shone in front of him. Beautifully dangerous, like a barracuda.

“It’s broken.” You pointed out to him, the captain who wasn’t wearing a hat, an air of finality in your tone.

If he was plotting a course by a broken compass..

You were royally fucked.

You’d be lost at sea.

Would you ever see land again?

The nauseating rocking of the ship had you almost on your knees, praying. As the days went by, your sea legs grew, but you still weren’t used to it. You didn’t want to be used to it.

“It's only broken to those who don’t understand it,” He teased, sparing you a glance before returning his gaze down to the old piece of junk.

He didn’t seem to want to bother with taking you back down to your own personal hell, yet.

That was good enough for you.

You came up here for air, after all.

It was suffocating below deck.. The stench of mildew having made you sick.

Who knew you took fresh air for granted? Even if it was salty.

At least you could see the open sea and how the moon reflected on the murky water. It was enchanting, something out of a romance novel, but you wished you saw it under better circumstances.

Something about being on a piece of wood out where land was nowhere in sight and the bottom of the ocean was so far out of reach you couldn't even imagine it unnerved you.

You never understood seamen, or pirates, even.

They did this stuff for fun.

At least seamen did it as a way to make income.

The click of his tongue brought your attention back to the freckled man, murmurs under his breath only just now reaching your ears.

Directions and landmarks, sea terminology, things you didn't understand slipped past his chapped lips.. Until something you did know was uttered.

“You’re sailing for the port of Baringham? The low-profile port? That only deals with textiles?”

“Many questions for an answer you already know,” he quipped, “I’m taking you there.”

“How are you going to take me to a place where you cannot even plot a course to?”

Huffing, he finally turned his head to you, amusement written on his face along with a charming smile that would’ve made anyone swoon,

“Alright, you’ve got me.”

Pushing himself up with his cloth covered forearms, he moved to lean with his back against the rail, crossing his arms as he gave you a sliver of respect with direct eye contact.

You briefly considered pushing him over.

“I’m a bit lost.”

“Ah, so you admit it.”

Humming, you mimicked his action, crossing your arms under your chest.

“Fortunately for you, I happen to know where it is.”

“That so?” He mused, leaning toward you ever so slightly, panicked interest cracking through his calm, forest green eyes that you couldn't help but notice twinkle, “Care to tell me?”

“Mmm. I would… but what’s in it for me?”

“What is it that you want? Isn't your guaranteed freedom at said port enough?”

“No.”

“..” The captain was shocked into silence, clear amusement still written all over his face.

Combing his dirty fingers through his messy green locks, he gave you an inquisitive stare,

“Then what else?”

You thought for a moment. What else did you want?

You wanted many things, things of which he could not grant. No one could.

You’d have to settle for something else.

Something you would prefer.. suddenly, the sickness you felt when you were in that gross cell came to mind.

“Don’t put me back in that damned cell!” The shout bubbled up from nowhere, shocking even you, “And.. and water. I want water.” You mumbled out.

Silence settled into the night once more after your loud declaration.

Your face burned with pure embarrassment as he became the one to stare at you..

Until he started laughing.

The kind of boisterous and infectious laughter that forced you to look away from his regrettably handsome self.

“You have yourself a deal, princess!”

The title further made your cheeks burn, drawing your attention back to him just to meet his enchanting gaze.

It draws you in like a sailor to a mermaid.

“Now, mind telling me?”

Licking your lips, you pointed to the heavens, his eyes following, “Travel so the brightest star in the sky is behind you, and follow the little dipper. The port is due north from there.”

It was a route you didn’t mean to memorize years ago.

The loud snap of the compass being closed made you jump, composure temporarily lost yet again.

“Ahh..” His gaze flickered over the sky, no doubt seeing a plethora of routes with each familiar constellation as he mapped the one you spoke of.

“I see it now, silly me.”

Looking down at the deck, he rubbed the back of his sweaty neck, messing with the curly hair that fell loose. Would you be so bold as to think that he may be embarrassed?

He clapped a hand on your shoulder after pushing himself fully off the rail, the whisper of thanks fanning hotly across your ear as he climbed the creaking stairs to the helm, brown boots clicking on each step as he did so.

Spinning the wheel round, the ship croaked as it turned so that the north star fell behind.

“How did you know this course?”

His curiosity was natural. After all, how did you, daughter of a well-off navy general who had never stepped aboard a boat before, know the way to a port not many knew of?

The answer was simple, though it was an answer you didn't exactly wish to know. Cursed with knowledge as you would say, blessed would say the others.

“My father.” Bitterness stung your words, and Izuku whistled.

“Slimy piece of shit he is.” It was grumbled under your breath, and yet he still somehow heard you, offering a grunt of agreement, eyes focused ahead.

“I hate the bastard myself,” he seethed through his teeth, “I’d offer up all the rum and shillings I have to see his blood spill and stain my deck by my own hands.”

The fury that clung to each word he spoke sent shivers down your spine, his aura threatening as he fell to his thoughts.

“I have an obvious reason to hate him,”

“You do?”

Your childlike curiosity warmed his heart, bringing his attention back to you,

“You don’t get scars from nowhere, love.”

Your nose crinkled at the term of endearment, climbing the stairs yourself as you rolled your eyes.

“Your scars are hidden,”

“His scars mark my back.”

Blood drained from your face, bile creeping up your throat at the meaning.

You felt sick and disgusted with the blood that ran through your veins.

You hated being the daughter of a monster.

“Oh..” The whisper caught on the wind pulling at the sails.

Silence fell once more, the unbearable kind that made even his skin crawl with uncomfortableness.

Had the crew been awake, he probably would have laughed, grabbed a bottle of rum, and stumbled into his captains quarters to drink the memories away.. But his crew was asleep.

Oh, how he missed his first mate. He was the whole reason you were on his ship in the first place.

“Just your back?”

“Do you wish he gave me more?” Izuku chuckled, teasing you once again.

“No.” You huffed, furious he would even suggest such a thing.

“I have a few.. Mainly on my hand but I-”

His words died on his tongue, heart beating in his ears when he felt your much smaller and daintier hands grip his own, the only one covered in white scars.

He gulped as you traced the smooth cicatrix on his rough skin, a small blush on his cheeks, your touch soothing the pain behind each one.

Tears not his own fell onto his skin, rolling off and spattering onto the deck below, but he remained silent, allowing you to trace the scars over his forearm, not specifying which were and which were not created by your father.

He liked your touch.

“I hate him too.” Your words were raw with hatred, touch fading as you pulled away and yet he still felt the tingle of it under his skin.

He wanted more. He hadnt felt such gentleness in so long..

That doesn’t matter, though.

“Why?” He found himself asking.

Lips pressing into a frown, he watched the sea as you mindlessly walked around behind him, stories spilling past your fervent lips, stories that made silent anger bubble in his gut, stories that you had never told anyone before - that you were forced to keep inside yourself for so long that they spilled out without care.

His desire to burn that man's ship down, to watch as the bright flames engulf him and it, destined to forever be lost at the bottom of the sea, grew tenfold.

Deku, the infamous pirate, prided himself on not giving a shit half the time, but he couldn’t ignore the empathy he felt in the moment.

You both had a common enemy.

Two strangers.. Where’s the irony in that?

“I don't like you,” You started after finishing up your uncontrollable word vomit, stopping in your tracks, “But the fact that I find this kidnapping to be the most enjoyable days of my life because I’m away from him and all the power he possesses is concerning.”

Why you told this to an untrustworthy, murdering thief.. You had no idea.

Perhaps it was because you had a feeling he would understand after hearing you out.

Or maybe it was the fact that he was currently the only person you could say it to.

After kidnapping you, all he had said to you was ‘welcome aboard!’ before locking the cell you just escaped from days later.

You should hate him, you should wish him to hang like every other disgusting pirate out there, especially for snatching you from your home in the dead of night, transferring you from one cell to the next, but you don't.

You wouldn’t show that, though.

Many words weighed heavy in Izukus mind, words he was unsure if he could say, or if it’d be the right thing to say.

He wasn’t heartless like some assumed, he wasn’t this traitorous asshole stories floating around about him told, he was just a pirate with a kind heart and skilled hands.

He almost felt bad that he planned to give you back to your father.

He felt bad that for that first day you were aboard his ship, he had wicked ideas of marking and ruining you in so many ways your father would only ever look at you and see him.

It was a cruel way to get revenge, revenge through someone else.

Actually, maybe he was an asshole.

Right then and there, he decided that that would no longer be his course of action, not if he could help it.

Hell, he wanted to keep you as far away from your father as he could. Would he abandon his first mate? No. He’d devise some other plan. Maybe get you somewhere safe, ask for your dress, and then cover a scarecrow in said dress and use that as a tool to get him back.

It could work!

Or maybe not.

Nonetheless, plan A through D were just thrown overboard,

“Well,” He smacked the wooden wheel to get your attention,

“You’re a pretty little thing, so I like you.”

You scoffed, he continued,

“Consider yourself prisoner to your fathers enemy for a long time to come, because darlin’,”

He drawled, sauntering over to you as you instinctively backed up, only to be trapped against the railing.

His muscular arms caged you in, taller frame towering over you as electrifying green eyes intoxicated your soul and sent heat flashes up your body,

“I’m not gonna let you go so easily.”

#pirate deku x reader #pirate deku #deku x reader #izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #deku x your #bnha #mha #mha x you #mha x reader #bnha x you #deku bnha x reader #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #pirate au

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downywrites · 3 years

Text

Bird is back, baby.

Phil owns a speakeasy, and the Dream Team needs some information he picked up from his shenanigans.

Dream gritted his teeth, the feeling grounding him in the cacophony of the speakeasy. The bar sounds equally overwhelmed him and drowned out his thoughts, the smell of raw booze burning in his nostrils. He grunted in annoyance, trying to avoid as many people as possible. Even so, a good amount of people looked at him questioningly. He longed to bring in the rest of his team, but he knew that it would cause much more of a stir if he did so. Sapnap never did well with crowds (and especially not in wooden buildings), and George turned heads left and right. He sighed, exasperated. All this just to find that stupid little fox informant that double-crossed them.

He weaved through the swaying crowd with the ease of a warrior, searching for the bar. Spotting the wooden structure, he moved towards it with purpose, pushing people to the side. The man working the bar frowned slightly. His wings fluttered slightly behind him, adorned with small wingclips and gems that sparkled in the warm lightbulb rays as he moved. Dream looked at him up and down, confirming to himself that yes, this was the man that Techno talked about all the time. The bartender stood his ground, pupils flicking up and down in the same manner. A warrior, he presumed, based on the way he held himself. His kimono shifted as he poured out a drink, flipping the cocktail shaker with ease. He made eye contact with Dream through the eye holes of his mask, taking a bottle from the shelf and pouring out another shot without breaking his gaze.

“Can I help you?” His tone, soft and unassuming, masked the hard edges of the word’s implications. Dream’s mind translated his body language for him. ‘Who are you, and why are you here?’ “I’m here because I need some information about someone who frequents this tavern. And I’m sure you’ll answer, because this is an illegal business, is it not?” The people nearby the winged man flinched, turning away from him as if to shield their faces. Dream paid them no heed. He didn’t care about their arrests. They were small fry compared to the bird-man with the powerful aura.

The man offered him a shot. He took it with two fingers, holding it gingerly in his hand as if it were a treasured gift. He didn’t want to make him feel even more threatened, did he? He didn’t seem remotely phased by the mixed signals Dream gave off, simply continuing to serve drinks. “If you are here for information about people in my speakeasy, you’re not going to get any. Things that are said in the Roost stay in the Roost.” The people nearby relax again, many sipping at their drinks and surveying Dream and his weapons. He pulled out a small vial of a glowing purple potion, placing it on the polished wood with a hollow clatter. The bartender picked it up, swirling it around with the dexterity of an alchemist. His sky blue eyes widened. “This is..Techno’s special brew…How did you get this?” “He gave it to me. I know him, don’t you?”

His eyes narrowed. “He doesn’t give that out to just anyone. That mask looks familiar...Dream?” At the mention of his name, several people scrambled out of their seats, faces pale like the colors of the sand nearby Manberg. Whispers of his name curled around his ears, making him grin. The bartender made no move to escape nor attack, simply picking up a nearby glass and polishing it with his wing. “Dream it is, then. I saw you once, but only once.” “Then you must be Philza.”

The man- no, Philza- agreed, bobbing his head slightly. He spread one of his wings, revealing a small wing-gem that shimmered with forest-green light. The emerald’s rays bounced off of his mask, casting a green shimmer of color onto the scuffed porcelain face. “If it’s information you seek, I can give it to you. You have one of Techno’s coveted potions, so you must be of value to him. Very well.” He dug into his kimono, rifling through it and carefully pulling out a small card. He plucked a feather from his wing without a second thought, pulling out a bottle and dipping the feather. The sounds of his newly-made feather quill scratching on the card made him lean in a little. Once he was done, Philza handed him the card.

“Meet me here after hours. I’ll talk to you then.” Dream looked away from him toward the entrance for a moment. He turned back to see nothing but a small, ink-color feather greeting him. A quiet caw made him look up, eyes widening as a shimmering crow the color of high-quality ink flew around the speakeasy. If he was in any other mood, he would have attempted to find out what that was about. He shook his head. He’d ask the man later.

“What do you mean, you just accepted a card and then left?”

“That’s the whole truth, Sapnap! He owns a business, I can’t just hold him hostage during his work hours!”

“I mean, it is illegal.”

“Yeah, what George said!”

Dream was beginning to regret bringing them along to talk with the bird-man. Rolling his eyes, he continued to pace around, waiting for the sound of wing-beats to save him from the incessant blabbing that the other two were doing. Sapnap growled slightly, breathing out a small lick of fire and lightly singing George, who promptly yelped and glared at the blaze hybrid. “Sapnap, you jerk!” Dream slid the mask over his eyes, covering his face and most of his sight. He leaned on the lamppost he was underneath, eyes shutting for a blissful moment of rest.

Of course, as luck would have it, that was when the bartender arrived. The sound of powerful wingbeats and jingling gems and charms made him sit ramrod straight. Wooden sandals made a ‘clunk’ noise as he alighted, shuffling slightly as he arranged himself. Dream scrambled to pull his mask back to its original spot, waving in the general direction of the noise. A small, throaty chuckle proved his guess to be correct. Sapnap’s mouth hung open slightly, jaw slack in shock. “You’re...you’re Philza?” The winged man tipped his bucket hat, hardcore charm fallign to the side as he bowed. His wings flared out for balance, revealing the inner shades and colors of his feathers and the gems beneath his primaries. Sapnap piped up again, eyes sparkling with his signature mischievousness. “You look mighty fine. Are you single?”

George and Dream muffled their groans behind their sleeves. “Sapnap, for once in your life, try to be serious. This is a serious matter.” The blaze shot back, “Well, you always end up sleeping in during the serious matters I deal with! Seems fair to me!” Dream scoffed quietly, turning to look at Philza fully. He wasn’t wearing his bartender garb, so he assumed he gave himself some time to prepare for the rendezvous. Just another thing that might hinder their next move. Dream sighed, fiddling with the potions on his belt. They clinked together, drawing Philza’s attention. “I see you brew as well.” “Of course. How could I decide to avoid an entire brand of magic? Wouldn’t be wise, if you ask me.” Sapnap and George were still having a go at each other, so the masked man simply ignored them, deciding to make friends with the new person. “So, are you willing to give us the information we need?” The charms on his hat shifted as he nodded, glimmering and catching his eye as the light bounced off of it. “Depends on who’s asking and what information you desire.”

Slightly miffed by the behavior of his team, he clicked his tongue loudly. Although the sound of it was muffled by the mask, the bickering hybrids stopped mid-sentence, faces morphing into a more serious look upon turning to face Philza. The winged hybrid took a wary step back, wings flaring out slightly. Dream held his hands out placatingly, tilting his head as to look innocent. “We’re not going to hurt you, we promise. All we need to know is the location of Fundy and other important aspects of his flight.” Philza did not look any less frightened by them. Eyes flicking to the splash potions on their vestures, he hopped on his feet, ready to fly away. “I-I cannot tell you that. Fundy is...valuable.”

Even as he prepared to ‘escape’, his graceful movements clued Dream into the idea that he might not be intending to leave the area quite yet. He hissed under his breath. The movements that the man was using looked similar to Techno, so if he timed it just right… Philza lunged at Dream, angling himself so he could slip through the gap in between the trio. Predictable. Dream grabbed him by his kimono and threw him off balance, allowing him to fall to the floor without any extra injuries. He hopped away from the man and threw a splash potion beside his form. The fragile glass shattered, leaving the potion all over the winged warrior. Philza struggled to get up, his movements hampered by the slowness potion.

Not wanting to let him escape, he threw a weakness potion, carefully angling it so it didn’t hit either of his friends. A small gasp escaped the winged hybrid. He collapsed to his elbows, arms wobbling. “You...you tricked me, didn’t you?” Dream shrugged. “I didn’t trick you. I asked you for something, and you said no. I have to get that information, whether you tell me willingly or not. That is the manner of the world we live in. Not that you would know, saying that you have been isolated from the rest of the world in your tavern. How long has it been since you last left?” He glanced back at Philza, expecting a reaction. None came from him. “Did the potion work that quickly? Or- George.” George scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “I-I panicked. Sorry.” Sapnap scoffed, arms crossed over his chest. “You cast your stupid sleep spell whenever we don’t need it. You really are the weakest link in the team.”

“Shut up, you little-” “Enough!” Dream stomped his foot on the floor. “You two have been bickering this entire time! What if the man is a light sleeper? Then all of this is for naught!” Chastened, the two shrank back from his booming voice. “You two need to get into gear. It’s time to be serious. The war is upon us. We cannot fail.” The others nodded, quickly picking up Philza. “Interrogation room?” Dream nodded. He followed behind the other two, shooting flaming arrows at any mobs aggressive (and dumb) enough to challenge them. He muttered softly under his breath, “Philza, I will get that information from you if it’s the last thing I do.”

Philza awoke to the sound of bickering, much to his annoyance. His head spun slightly, reminding him of what type of potions knocked him out. He sighed inwardly. He shouldn’t have trusted such a shady bunch, especially not when he was weaponless and just off of a shift. Gingerly opening his eyes, he saw a blurry bunch walking around his form. Socks shuffled on the hard wood below the surface he was resting on. He tugged lightly on his arms, warning chitter bubbling up when his movement was hampered by a solid restraint. He risked cracking his eyes open a little more to survey the quality of the bonds. The weaker the bonds, the better chance he had of escaping when the time was ripe. Through the blurry circles of his lashes, he saw the dull gleam of leather binding the closest wrist in eyesight. He smiled to himself knowingly. ‘That’s not going to hold me for very long.’

His pupils followed the motion of a blue-clad figure. An assortment of tools clattered onto a metallic-sounding surface behind to the other side of him, making him start slightly. The masked man walked into his sightline slowly. “So, you are awake. Sneaky birdie.” His feathers bristled slightly at the insult. Philza’s voice rumbled deep in his throat as he spoke. “I’m not a ‘birdie’.” He snapped his eyes open, glaring straight at the eye holes on his mask. He stared right back, empty, dark shadows covering the man’s actual irises. The goggle-wearing boy and the bandana man followed suit, staring at the bound hybrid.

“Like we said earlier, we need the answers. We can’t afford to lose the man.” Dream stepped towards the table, a menacing aura emanating from his person. “So, will you tell me of Fundy’s whereabouts? Or are we going to have to do this the hard way?” Phil’s facial expressions hardened at the sound of his grandson’s name. “I can’t do that for you. I have morals. If he could have seen his face, the winged man would have seen his face harden even more. Lips pursed behind porcelain. Dream’s growl caught in his throat. He gestured towards the others. “Get the tools. Bring them to the table.”

The duo nodded in tandem, the first thing that they had done together without a squabble since they and Phil had been introduced. Phil suppressed a snarl when he felt an unknown hand caress the back of his wing, pushing against it roughly and shoving the person’s appendage off of him. “Feisty, aren’t we?” He recognized the voice as ‘Sapnap’. Metal wheels squeaked. The rattle of tools on a cart made his ears perk slightly. He strained to hear what the other two were saying behind his back. “...this…..work?” ‘Shhh…...us..” Phil turned his head away from the rather intimidating figure in front of him, refusing to meet his gaze. “Well, you know that promise I made you while we were acquiring you?” Phil nodded, squishing his face into the table’s surface to avoid looking at those empty eye holes again. “We won’t hurt you. We want that info, yes, but not at the cost of breaking a promise. No, we needed to find something that would break you without ever harming a hair- or a feather, in this case- on your head.”

If the man were anyone else, Phil would have broken the cuffs in a matter of seconds and ripped his mask off of his face. Years and years of dealing with captors can give you as much tact as a hundred-year old strategist in the late SMP wars. But, seeing that Dream was speaking about Fundy, it would be ideal to stay put for now. After all, what the hell could he do to the man? He already promised not to hurt him. He smirked to himself. They had already made the wrong move, and the game hadn’t even started yet. Foolish mortals. He felt sure of his motives, sure of his imminent win, until the familiarly unfamiliar feeling of his boots being untied by unseen hands snapped him out of his egotistic daze. Feathers fluffing, he tried his best to crane his neck and gain a better look at what the two were doing behind him. “W-what are you-?”

Another hand carded through his wings, making him squawk in annoyance and bat their hand away. “I think that torture is always a good way to force people to get info, but I don’t want anyone on my tail. Therefore, something that doesn’t leave a mark would be good, better even, on someone as willful and prideful as you. And I can think of something that I think most of your allies have in common~” His boots came off, revealing his clawed feet. The sensation of frigid air made him cross them over each other. He glared behind him as well as he could, earning a small chuckle from the blue-clad man. A single finger dragged over one of his soles, garnering a small, almost pithy chuckle. “This won’t hurt at all. All you need to do is tell us, and the tickling stops. Got it?”

The winged man struggled in his bonds. The sound of the leather creaking dangerously made the Dream Team step back a little in worry. Dream snarled behind his mask. ‘Being uncooperative, hm? I might need to take him to the more secure area if he keeps misbehaving.’ Dream turned to George. “Splash potion, George. Now.” George pulled out a potion of weakness and poured it onto the man’s form. The liquid traveled down his kimono, leaving trails of weakening fluid all over his back and chest. The struggling slowed down to a mere squirming. Philza knew better than to exhaust his strength. He folded his wings back, snuggling them against his form. Traitorous butterflies erupted in the pit of his stomach. ‘They’re going to tickle me? Out of all the different types of interrogation, tickling? Either way, they’re not going to get the info out of me anytime soon.’ Turning his head back to look at the trio, he folded his ears back, narrowing his eyes in a manner that would make most taverngoers uneasy. The only reaction he got was a smirk from Sapnap. He and George returned to their respective positions behind him, hands and fingers at the ready. Dream stared Phil down from his position above him.

“Anything you want to say before we begin?” The warrior opened his mouth to speak, voice lowered to a mere whisper. “I will not tell you the whereabouts of that man.”

“Barely a man.”

He bristled at the comment, but said nothing more. “Very well. Sapnap, George.’ Almost immediately, he felt someone scribble at his soles. He bit his lip to hold in his chuckles, unwilling to give them the satisfaction of hearing him laugh. “Oh, birdie~ why don’t you laugh for me? I’m sure your laugh must be so cute! Or, even better, why don’t you tell us the location of Fundy?”

“...ngh...n-never.” George raised his eyebrow behind him. “Oh, really? Never? I don’t think that’s true.” George traced a shape into the man’s trembling sole, wiggling his fingers over the other one as well as he could. He whispered behind him, “Sap, go for another part of him.” Sapnap grumbled quietly, but moved to the side of Phil. He dug his fingers into his sides suddenly. “You ticklish here?” Phil squeaked in surprise. He burst into quiet giggles and squirmed weakly in his bonds. “N-nohoho, Ihihihi’m nohot!” “Oh? Is the little birdie getting giggly?”

The bird warrior’s cheeks pricked with heat. “Ihihi’m nohot a bihihirdihie!” Sapnap roughly tazered the man’s sides, poking everywhere he could to keep the laughter flowing. Phil stubbornly folded his wings closed, even though the whole of his instincts told him to take to the skies. George, realizing that his feet might not be the biggest spot on him, also moved away from his feet. He dragged his fingers from the ball of his foot to the heel, travelling past the foot onto the muscle of his ankle. Grinning slyly, he traced the curve of the muscles in his calf. The resulting increase in giggles made his smile widen even more. “Seriously, your laughter’s even sweeter than I thought it would be.” He cooed at him a little, hoping that being seen as cute would harm his sense of pride just a little deeper.

The warrior’s mortification cut deep into his chest at the cooing. “Yohohou cuhuhut thahat ohohut!” He thrashed his legs as much as he could, endeavoring to make contact with the person behind him. “Oh no you don’t.” Sapnap’s hands traveled upwards to his lower ribs, scratching at the bones through the thin gauze of his kimono. Phil’s laughter squeaked slightly. “Noho-nohohono! Nohohot thehere, plehehease!” “Oh, is this a good spot, hm? That’s what you get for trying to kick him.” Phil pushed his face into the table, trying his best not to show how much the teasing was getting to him. His wings fluttered against his will, drawing attention to the soft, fluffy appendages. George smirked crookedly. “Oh? Does the birdie want his wingies tickled?” Phil’s eyes widened significantly. He turned to look at George the best he could, wincing at the slight strain on his neck from the sudden movement. “Nohoho, dohoHOn’t!” The blaze hybrid dug his fingers into the same spot again, making the warrior squeak through his laughter. “I see we have a squeaky toy here. Watch me make him squeak!” He poked it again, giggling softly himself when the squeak came out a little more indignant than he expected.

Dream stood back, watching his friends do the work for him. The blue-clad man wandered to the other side of the table, carding his hands through his shimmery wings. He felt the feathery appendages tremble from his mere touch. “You must be pretty ticklish here. Your reaction definitely sealed the deal on that. The question is, will this be enough to break you?”

Philza knew better than to answer that. George waved at Sapnap to lay off for a moment, before threading his hands carefully through the feathers. Philza shivered slightly from the sensation, dreading what was to come. The butterflies in his chest and stomach took flight again, anticipation weakening his defense for what George was about to do. He cursed his avian instincts, knowing that sooner or later, something was going to spook him into opening his wings. And if he opened his wings while a warrior like George was there….he closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to think about it.

The man ruffled the outermost feathers of the wing, admiring its glossy, healthy sheen and iridescent colors beneath their midnight exterior. “You know, your wings are beautiful. Have you ever heard about the tales of the crow? That story is told by villagers to their children. A very beautiful tale, if you ask me.”

Sapnap rolled his eyes, scoffing quietly. He folded his arms over each other, tapping his foot impatiently. He mouthed at George, ‘When are you going to be done with your stupid tale?’ He mouthed back, ‘When I’ve sufficiently flustered him. Just wait a minute.’

He continued speaking, petting the man’s wings as he did so. He rubbed a specific feather at its root, watching the man’s entire body shake from the effort of not bursting into sweet giggles again. “The original story of the crow is that, in his vainness, he put out the torch of the sun while showing off his feathers. The others did not punish him for it, as he punished himself for it by blackening his feathers when he relit the torch. But…”

He dug his hands deeper into the feathers, feeling the warm, soft muscle underneath. “I think a wee little crow like you really deserves a little more of a punishment.” With careful hands, as to not hurt him, he grabbed at the outer joint of the wing and extended it manually. Philza let him, too flustered and too weak to pull his wing out of his hands. Triumph blossomed slightly in George's chest at the same realization. Once the man’s wing was at full extension, he quickly dug his hands into the feathers, raking downwards through the feathers and reaching the sensitive skin underneath.

With a burst of energy he didn’t know he had, Philza screeched, arching his back almost violently and squirming with renewed force. He burst into laughter, squeaks and chirps mixing in with his mirthful cackling. Sapnap grabbed the bonds with his hands, making sure the man didn’t accidentally break the restraints. Dream’s eyes widened in surprise at how well it got the winged hybrid, but simply nodded in the general direction of his close friend. “N-NAHAHA, CUHUHU- IHIHI! HAhAHA!” George continued to drag his finger through his feathers, grinning widely again. “Man, wrecking you is so much fun. You’re so sensitive, too! Maybe we could keep you as our plaything if you don’t give us the info we need!” It took all of Philza’s energy to shake his head ‘no’. Tears threatened to spill, crystalline liquid blurring his vision of the table. “IHIHIHI- FIHIHINE! IHIHIHi- IHIHIHIHI’LL TEHEHELL! STOHOHOP!”

George immediately let up, glancing at the other two. With an air of victory, he walked over to the other side of the table with Sapnap and Dream, acting as if he was the cat that caught the canary. Sapnap glared slightly at him, but said nothing. “So, what were you going to tell us?” Dream’s voice sounded quiet in the absence of the loud laughter that echoed in the room moments earlier. For someone who had lived so many years, it was obvious that Philza still had the voice of a general who could yell through the howling winds of Antarctica.

Phil panted and wheezed quietly, wings fluttering, as he tried to catch his breath. The Dream Team waited patiently for the man- well, slightly patiently. Sapnap tapped his foot on the floor quickly, anxious for him to be back in the game. George cleaned his glasses absentmindedly, not too worried about the info on its own. Dream cleared his throat, trying to get the dazed man’s attention. The hybrid’s eyes sharpened as he turned to look at the group. He smiled cheekily. “Sorry, boys. The only thing I can tell you is that Fundy is someone that I care for. I cannot reveal his position, not at this moment.” Sapnap, the only one looking directly at him, growled lowly. His eyes hardened momentarily, before softening again, as if nothing had gone wrong in their plan. “Oh, you’re going to get it now, bird man.” Sapnap moved towards the man, fingers wiggling.

George took a step forward to follow him. A gloved hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks. “George.” Bare fingers tapped on his bicep. “Let him.” Dream leaned back, letting go of George carefully, as if he would bolt if he let go too quickly. Sapnap strode up to Phil quickly, jabbing him in the ribs quickly and darting underneath the flowy folds of his clothing. Without letting him get used to anything, he immediately plunged into tickling the man, testing spots and techniques at the speed of light. His rough palms dragged along the man’s skin, inducing chirpy laughter and squirming from Philza. “Oh, you really fucked up by saying that. You won’t get away with saying that scotch-free, you know?”

Phil replied through his laughter. “Wehehell, Ihihihi gahahahave yohohou infohohoho! Thahahat’s nohohot fahahair!” Sapnap pushed his flapping wings aside to scribble at his back. “Yes, it is! We asked for whereabouts, not why you can’t tell us!” Phil squealed at the feeling of his nails on his spine, going limp in his restraints. His body shook with laughter, vibrating underneath Sap’s nails. “Ooh, a melt spot? No wonder you kept your wings so stil earlier! This spot’s golden!” He let his hands wander all over his back and his shoulder blades, chuckling at the myriad noises the poor man made as he moved from place to place. He traced shapes on his shoulders, grinning when the man hiccuped loudly from the stimulation. “You’re already having a field day, and I’m not even using any tools! And Techno said that you were fearsome? You’re just a cute little crow!”

The indignant squawk from his remark made even Dream crack a smile. “ ‘M NAHAhat cuhuhute!” He shook his head, wing-ears flapping from a mixture of embarrassment and mirth. “Aww, but you little ears say otherwise! Just look at them go!” The blaze hybrid sing-songed, grabbing one and rubbing it between his fingers carefully. The other one shivered and went almost deathly still. A small trill of happiness escaped Phil’s mouth, a noise that immediately caused him to flush an even deeper shade of red.

He whimpered in embarrassment through his giggles, shaking his head slightly. “Aww! Look at him, he’s such a cutie. All embarrassed because he likes it when I pet his ears?” He rubbed it again, this time more firmly. Phil folded his wings shut again, relaxing inadvertently into the man’s touch. His eyes closed without his volition, pushing slightly into his hands. Confused, Sapnap looked over to Dream. He whispered quietly, “What am I supposed to do here? Should I keep going?” Dream shook his head. “Let him rest. We can mess with him after he wakes up.” Nodding slightly, Sapnap continued to rub his ear, waiting for the man’s breathing to even out into a deep and slow, obviously familiar pattern.

Once Phil was sufficiently unconscious, according to his standards, he let go of the now limp miniature wing, walking towards the group of people. “Alright, now what do we do?” Dream took off his mask swiftly, basking in the cool air and the significantly less stuffy atmosphere for a moment. He turned to the other two, grassy green eyes sharp and focused. “We take him to a more secure area, strap him down. Then, we continue to question him until he coughs it out. We don’t have a choice. If Fundy escapes, we are guaranteed to have a problem. Got it?” Sapnap nodded, his bandana bobbing. “Sounds good to me.” George didn’t look too sure.

“If Fundy is of his kin, doesn’t that mean that he may have a bit more of a reluctance to tell us? I’m not sure that questioning him will be time-effective…”Sapnap scoffed, rolling his eyes. He huffed out a cloud of steam in his eyes, making him put on his goggles to avoid getting burnt. “Look, George. Usually, your ideas aren’t that shitty. But, that’s one of the shittiest ideas I’ve heard to date. Yeah, let’s release this intelligent bird-man who is a bartender to many warriors and informants, who now know our location and what we need! He’s going to destroy us almost immediately, that’s for sure!” He threw up his hands, exasperated already. His eyes flashed with anger, a normal and instinctual reaction. “Ugh! Why don’t you ever understand? We’re warriors of high regard! We can’ just...release him!” He moved closer to the other, steam pooling in his mouth like dry ice in a tub of water.

He opened his mouth to speak again, before Dream’s mask clinking on the interrogation table gave him pause. “Enough. We wait for him to awake, and that’s an order. No arguing. If he’s awake, he’ll know that we aren’t as strong as he thinks we are. Keep your guard up.” The cold glaze of his eyes conveyed his own anger. George stepped back slightly from the two, nodding quickly. “Okay.” He turned around quickly, high-heeled boots making solid thumping noises as he walked. “I’ll get water for us.” Sapnap stayed put for a moment longer, red eyes boring into green, before he walked away as well. “Whatever.”

Dream made no move to counter or argue, simply turning to look at Philza’s peacefully sleeping form. He smiled at him, teeth sharp and yellow from countless washings with blood. “Just you wait, Philza. We will get you to break, whether or not your sanity goes with it.” After all, Dream was one to always have the last word, whether it be in an argument or an enemy’s life. That was always how the cookie crumbles, and it wasn’t as if Phil was the only immortal that he had the liberty to break. His lips curled slightly. “Techno would be proud.” He fished around in his pocket, pulling out a familiar emerald, still dangling on a bloodied chain earring. The hook slid into his own earring hole smoothly, as if it wanted to be there. It swung like a pendulum. Back and forth. Back and forth.

If you want a part 2, give me a little winky face in the tags ;)

#downywrites #lee!philza #ler!dt #ler!dream #ler!george #ler!sapnap #dsmp tickle #mcyt tickle #my writing

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